


Everything Under the Sun

by nearlydownpours



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlydownpours/pseuds/nearlydownpours
Summary: Ryan forgets to update his emergency contact info after breaking up with Brendon so, 3 years later, Brendon is the one who gets a call when Ryan ends up in hospital after a motorbike accident.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you think this sounds kinda or very familiar dw, you're not crazy, I did already post this on here (maybe a year ago now?) under the title 'boats against the current' but i deleted it cause i was going through a mini crisis - sorry about that, i know there were quite a lot of people who were loving it. SO, now that my life is back under control I've decided to repost the chapters I'd written (with a few minor editorial and in some cases larger [because my computer lost some of the files] but plot-unrelated changes so if you did read the original one and cba to re-read those parts you can easily get away with doing so, I'll try remember to put a short summary in the notes of what will be the first ~new~ chapter so anyone who liked it when i first posted it can just subscribe and keep an eye out for when i post that) and then continue with the story and write new chapters. 
> 
> So if you're new here: hello! I hope you enjoy it! Comments and kudos are always v v appreciated and are what made me write so much of this in the first place.  
> And if you're not new: welcome back! also feel free to drop a comment cause I'd love to know you guys are here again! So sorry for randomly getting rid of it with no warning i promise i wont do it again and stick around cause once I've posted the original chapters there will be new ones.

Brendon sighed as his phone rang for the third time that night; why couldn’t spam callers ever take the hint that you just weren’t going to pick up? He glanced at the unknown number displayed on the screen, no recognition springing up that would suggest it belonged to anyone he knew. The TV continued to flicker in the corner of the room with the volume turned up high to break through the sound of wind and rain coming from the storm outside. Just as he was getting into the next episode of Real Housewives, Brendon heard his phone go again.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’

Boggart looked up as Brendon strode across the room to the kitchen table, picking up his phone with an air of irritation and swiping to answer the call in one smooth motion.

‘Hello.’

Brendon’s voice was flat and razor sharp, amply conveying his annoyance to whoever was listening.

‘Is this Brendon Urie speaking?’

The voice sounded business-like and spoke completely unperturbed by Brendon’s irritation. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck, something about the stormy weather and mysterious caller addressing him by name triggered some childish horror-film fear within him. It was almost too cheesy to take seriously but nevertheless a thin film of anxiety rippled over his skin.

‘Yes… who’s this?’

The speaker on the end of the line took a breath and began to talk again, and Brendon felt his heart drop in his chest for a moment at the unexpected reply.

‘This is the Los Angeles state hospital, we’ve just admitted George Ross to our accident and emergency department, he’s had a nasty motorcycle accident… you’re listed as his emergency contact.’

Brendon slowed slightly, the prior annoyance forgotten as he tried to get his head round the situation as quick as possible. There was a long silence in which he only managed to get an ‘oh’ out in response.

‘I can’t tell you what his condition is yet but I expect he’ll be going into the operating room soon. If you speak to someone at reception they’ll be able to tell you which ward he’s in once he’s out of the theatre.’

Brendon managed to mumble out a reply of sorts and the hospital worker hung up, eager to get on with the rest of the work quickly piling up on the night shift.

Ryan Ross. He hadn’t heard that name in a while; hadn’t thought about that name in a while. Bit of a fucking bittersweet way for him to pop back up again, huh. It had been about 3 years since Ryan broke up with him, 1 year of stitching up the gashes he felt in his chest, 2 of being happy and moving on and not giving one thought towards Ryan Ross. If there had been any bad blood back then, there certainly wasn't now. The breakup hadn't been especially ugly; all splits have heartbreak to some degree, Ryan hadn't done it to hurt Brendon and there was no nastiness. He was earnest in his claims of having moved on and looked back on their time together like an adult looks back of their time with good childhood friends who simply drifted away. But here he was after months of absence, suddenly continuing their interaction, probably not even aware he'd done so yet. Why was Brendon his emergency contact? There was no memory of Ryan asking his permission or offhandedly mentioning it, but he must have done so during the 4 years they were together. It made sense really, Brendon reflected, Ryan didn't have any other family to so it only logical to put your long term boyfriend as an emergency contact. He must have forgotten to change it. Brendon breathed deeply as he realised the implications of this: potentially, and very likely, he was the only person who knew Ryan was in hospital. Any friends he had would have no way of finding out and Brendon may be his ex but that didn't make him heartless. Fuck, he could be flat-lining on the operating table right now and Brendon would have to be the one to find out. 

The rain was still falling heavily and Brendon decided to call a taxi: all this talk of traffic accidents had unnerved him slightly and the prospect of driving in the murky downpour seemed like tempting fate. The journey across town was 40 minutes at slow, night rain pace and during that time Brendon had time to align a vague plan. He would ascertain the severity of the situation first and then try and find someone close to Ryan he could tell. Hopefully there'd be some obvious name in his phone, or if he had a passcode there might be a neighbour at his address he could pass the responsibility to. Fucking Ryan Ross not updating his emergency contacts, of course he hadn't. 

The driver stopped outside LA State Hospital and Brendon payed his fare, ducking out under his jacket and running towards the wide automatic doors which welcomed him in. He shook a few drops of water from his head and a few damp strands of hair slicked themselves to his forehead. 

A woman at reception gave him a sympathetic look as she directed him up 3 floors to the trauma ward. That in itself didn't fill Brendon with much hope; as much as he'd left the Ryan part of his life behind, he didn't want to be the guy to tell someone their best friend had died in a bike accident and his ex of 3 years has been notified before you. 

Another receptionist greeted him at the entrance to the ward and explained that, although Ryan was still unconscious, the injuries hadn't actually been too bad and he was going to be okay. Brendon could go and see him if he wanted. 

The door closed softly behind him as the nurse scurried away, wanting to give Brendon some privacy. At first he'd smirked at how far off her assumptions were (brother, friend, boyfriend, anyone important) but then he'd turned to properly look at Ryan, lying still on the bed in front of him. Something surprising rose up in Brendon and for a moment he almost felt a bit sick at the sudden rush of familiar emotions.

The phrase 'like riding a bike' is usually applied to skills, or remembering certain routines, but Brendon realised it could also explain feelings too. The affection he felt for the skinny figure in front of him was almost comforting in its familiarity, resurfacing like some emotional Rube Goldberg machine to pick up where it had left off 3 years ago, with none of the pain and angst that had tainted it inbetween. It didn't mean anything though, he should have expected it really. In the same way you could feel an odd nostalgia for your old middle school (even though you'd hated it there like every other teenager) he could feel caring sympathy for Ryan Ross, it wasn't anything you put much trust into. 

There was a wooden chair with a cracked plastic seat next to the bed which Brendon pulled out slightly and sat down on. He felt uncomfortable being so close to his ex - this was the chair mothers and fathers and close friends sat in, not apathetic ex-lovers. One of the machines slowly beeped and Brendon forced himself to match his own breathing to the artificial metronome. Ryan didn't look too bad, considering the statistical chances of a motorbike rider in a traffic accident. There were a few nasty cuts on his face and a vivid red graze all down the left side. The tell-tale fleshy violet of bruises could already be seen blossoming under his skin and the rest of him was hidden under a sheet. He should have asked the nurse for more detail, Brendon thought, or some idea of when Ryan would wake up. He stood up and lifted the clipboard which hung at the end of the bed, studying it closely. Broken ribs, broken lower leg and ankle, dislocated shoulder, sprained wrist... along with the extensive cuts and bruising. He took his seat again next to Ryan and found himself staring at the expressionless face before him. There's no way Brendon would have known about this happening if Ryan hadn't forgotten to change his contact details. Such a simple chance that could have easily happened differently; but no, here Brendon was, sat, against all odds, next to the hospital bed of Ryan Ross. 

It’s hard, if you've never had a platonic relationship with someone, to force yourself out of the old romantic habits the two of you may have had. There's nothing for you to go off, all your interactions have been those of two people in a relationship, which is why 'just being friends' almost never works if you've previously dated. It's easier if you started off platonic and then got together as a couple, there's previous experiences to revert to and build on; but forming a friendship in the aftermath of a purely romantic one is something infrequently managed. 

This is why, sat three floors up in LA State Hospital, listening to the white buzz of heavy rain on the double glazing, Brendon Urie found himself having to push aside the almost innate urge to hold Ryan's hand, or lay his head down on the empty space by his pillow. In the end he settled for gently stroking Ryan's hair, cringing at the small clumps of congealed blood caught in his fringe. It wasn't that he still loved Ryan, or even wanted to stay in touch, it was just that some part of him still cared, and this was the only way Brendon Urie had ever known of showing he cared about Ryan Ross. 

The monitor still beeped steadily away in the corner and Brendon sighed heavily. He couldn't fucking leave now, Ryan's phone would probably be locked and even if he could get in contact with some new friend Brendon would undeniably still be the guy who'd known Ryan longest. There was some unaccounted for responsibility he felt towards Ryan as an 'old friend'. They may have had their differences but... the guy had been in a motorcycle accident, and Brendon had gotten over him leaving long ago. If it took longer than tonight he could call Spencer and ask him to go look after Boggart. That was a conversation he'd like to avoid if at all possible though - Spencer's reaction to him standing watch in Ryan Ross' hospital room was one he didn't wish to experience. Spencer was the one who'd helped Brendon through the breakup and the thought of Brendon being where he was was the absolute definition of 'not good'. 

A different nurse than the one from earlier popped her head round the door and nodded at Brendon. 

'There's a coffee machine on the next floor up if you wanted anything, he should be waking up in the next hour or so.'

Brendon smiled, thanking her as she ducked back out of the room. One hour. That was fine, not a weirdly long time for him to hang around; he'd be back in his apartment with Boggart by sunrise.

Suddenly the prospect of Ryan actually waking up became a fast approaching issue. How would he react? After all, he'd been the one to break up with Brendon. 'Irreconcilable differences' would have been the divorce filing. Perhaps Brendon was the last person he wanted to see... what if Ryan had a new boyfriend? The thought hadn't occurred to Brendon until that moment and an awful twisting feeling invaded his stomach. There might be some doting guy, head over heels for the man in front of him, blissfully continuing his night as if everything was normal and okay. Brendon felt like a dick. Careful not to make too much noise, he hurried over to the pile of Ryan's belongings which sat on a long table against the far wall. An undamaged phone and wallet lay separately in a clear plastic box, the kind used for takeaway meals. They must have been in the under-seat compartment, safe from the bullish metal which had given Ryan all those cuts and bruises. Pressing the home button on the phone revealed a photo of Ryan's dog. That was good, no boyfriend selfie meant it was less likely Brendon was acting like the biggest douche sitting in his ex's hospital room. The phone was password protected so Brendon placed it back in the tray, picking up Ryan's wallet instead. The wallet was just as unfruitful in revealing any potential relationship, showing only another photo of Dottie and, nostalgically, one of Brendon, Jon, Spencer and Ryan on Spencer’s 21st birthday. Brendon snapped the wallet shut, dropping it back in the clear tray with the feeling of having seen too much. Clearly no boyfriend to worry about. Brendon turned back to face Ryan and stared at him with folded arms. He didn't particularly want to consider the implications of the photo and if he was honest the thought of it made him quite irritated. 

The aforementioned coffee would only make Brendon anxious and he wasn't particularly in the mood to go exploring for a busy hospital canteen. Angrily, he slumped down on the plastic seated chair again, focussing his eyes on Ryan's sleeping face with a look of annoyance. Of course he fucking forgot to change his contact details, fucking Ryan Ross. Brendon wanted to groan but was keen to prolong the inevitably awkward situation of Ryan waking up for as long as possible. Instead he settled for silent contemplation and reluctantly found his anger dying down the longer he looked at Ryan's sleeping form. To avoid looking at him Brendon closed his eyes, slumping his head down so he'd appear to be sleeping if another nurse popped in; he didn't fancy his chances of explaining the rather odd situation without coming off crazy or like a total asshole. 

The rain and comfortingly predictable beeping could still be heard in the background, clear over the hushed sound of the sleeping hospital. It gave their room a feeling of separation, like it was isolated from the world by a wild blanket of rain. Brendon's coat lay drying on the back of his chair where he'd draped it earlier and the strands of hair on his forehead gradually became unstuck as the tepid rainwater evaporated away in the sleepy heat of the hospital. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who's already dropped a comment and kudos or bookmarked y'all're the best <3 here's chapter 2 already cause i have no self control

Brendon jumped slightly as a cough woke him. He was uncertain how long he'd been asleep, or even when he had actually drifted off. The source of the cough lay in front of him: Ryan Ross was awake and staring at Brendon inquisitively, a touch of confusion visible behind his half closed eyes.

“You're awake,” Brendon said, aware of how stupidly obvious that sounded but unsure of what else he was supposed to say.

“So are you.”

Ryan spoke softly, wincing slightly as his voice deepened for a moment and sent painful vibrations through his injured ribs. There was a heavy silence and Brendon shuffled awkwardly under Ryan's gaze, unsure of where to focus his own eyes, settling in the end for looking at the dent of Ryan's knee beneath the bedsheet.

“Why are you here Brendon?” Ryan asked, imploding the imminently hovering small talk; a small solace provided by their previous years of closeness.

Brendon explained Ryan's faux pas with his contact details, asking him if there was anyone he'd like him to call now he was awake. Before Ryan had chance to reply, a nurse came in, smiling at her now wakeful patient.

“You'll be good to go in a minute or so, I'll just give you another dose of morphine and then get someone to bring you a wheelchair. The doctor'll pop along to give you a subscription of painkillers and explain things before you leave.” She marched in and began fiddling with the tubes going into Ryan's arm, leaving the two men to sit there in silence, attempting to dispel any palpable tension for the nurse's benefit.

Once she'd left, assuring them 'someone will be along in a minute', Brendon lifted his gaze to Ryan's.

“Any better?” He nodded toward the morphine tube and Ryan nodded. The tension of pain is his jaw had already receded somewhat and he was beginning to feel less like he'd been hit by a car, literally.

“I suppose... I should call someone to pick me up,” Ryan said in response to Brendon's earlier question, “though I'm not sure who... Jon's out of town and I'd feel like I was encroaching on anyone else...”

He faltered awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable discussing his personal life with Brendon.  
Brendon frowned slightly. He wasn't sure what he'd expected Ryan's current social life to be. He'd always been an oddly charismatic person, attracting people towards him and leaving them unsure as to why they felt so drawn to this seemingly reclusive character. But Brendon now realised most of the friendships he had formed in the past 3 years must be hollow ones, vast numbers of fair-weather friends. It was odd to hear Jon's name too, but part of him was glad they'd kept in close contact all this time. Jon had been the most democratic about their split, trying to maintain a close friendship with all three of them (since Spencer had distanced himself from Ryan too). But Brendon had needed to completely cut any mention of Ryan out of his life, and since Jon spent a lot of time with the both of them, the subject of Ryan had become unavoidable. When you can't mention half of your life to someone, keeping in touch becomes difficult, and so the two of them had slowly drifted apart until Brendon hadn't heard from Jon for over two years.

“No, I can take you home of course, I don't mind. I meant a boyfriend or someone who might be worrying.”

Brendon cringed at the awkward phrasing of calling Ryan's house 'home'. He'd meant it simply as a way of referencing Ryan's current house, but in the silence that followed it became heavy with implications of when they'd both lived together. The enquiry about a boyfriend sounded forced and unsubtle too, Brendon stopped himself from dropping his head to his hands.

Ryan smiled slightly. “No... there's no one who'd be worried about me, except perhaps Dottie. You really don't have to take me back you know, coming here at all was already more than I could've asked, you needn't have answered the call at all.”

He spoke a little clearer than earlier, the fresh dose of morphine obviously having an effect. The statement would have sounded dramatic to anyone else happening to hear, but Brendon understood; they'd broken up 3 years ago, it was water under the bridge. Brendon had no more obligation to Ryan than a random stranger on the street. Even less obligation from Ryan's point of view, as he'd been the one to leave Brendon, unexpectedly and with painful consequences to both parties.

“I know, but it's not a problem, man.” Brendon's tone took on an overtly casual air. “I take it you live pretty close by? I'll just make sure you get back safely then catch a taxi home. You got hit by a fucking car dude, I'm not a total dick.”

Ryan laughed without thinking and was abruptly caught short by the sudden pain in his ribs which not even the morphine could suppress. He mumbled a few swear words as he breathed heavily through the sharp spasms, reminding himself of a woman in labour. That almost made him laugh again. The presence of Brendon by his side, brows knitted like a concerned husband made the situation all the more fitting.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting my ribs are...” He trailed off, realising he was unsure what the true extent of his injuries were.

“Broken.” Brendon offered up, continuing to list the other injuries he'd read on Ryan's clipboard.

“Fuck. I'm gonna be off the town for a while.”

Brendon raised his eyebrows at Ryan's sincerity.

“You're lucky to be alive at all.” He pointed out chastisingly. Ryan shrugged. “You'll just have to get used to the homebody life for a while.”

The atmosphere of the hospital room had become one of relative ease. The unspoken tensions of earlier were replaced by an almost innate rapport and a long forgotten something that was not too dissimilar to comfort.

The door clicked open and a nurse appeared pushing a wheelchair.

It took the help of Brendon and a few sharply spoken swear words from Ryan before he was securely in the chair. He wore papery hospital pyjamas which stopped at the knee on his left leg to make way for a raspberry pink cast, continuing down over his ankle to leave only his toes sticking out the end. There would be no problem of Ryan getting cold: the sun was already beginning to rise, it must be about 5 o'clock, and the warmth of the LA morning would be more than enough to keep them both comfortable. The jacket on the back of Brendon's chair was unneeded and he folded it over his arm as the nurse wheeled Ryan into the corridor. Brendon walked over to the back of the room and picked up the pile of Ryan's clothes, ignoring the congealed patches of blood and balancing them on top of his coat. He pocketed Ryan's phone and wallet before turning to face the door. A doctor stood with the nurse, gesticulating as he explained something or other to Ryan who now clutched a small paper bag. Brendon allowed himself to watch the seated figure, taking in the raw and bruised face under the harsh hallway lights. Ryan watched the doctor intently, nodding occasionally to show he understood.

After what already felt like too long, Brendon also stepped out into the corridor. The doctor finished off his speech with words that made little sense to Brendon without their previous context. Smiling at the three of them he turned to continue his work elsewhere in the hospital, which was just beginning to prepare for the hectic day ahead.

“He's all yours!” The nurse said, offering the handles of Ryan's chair to Brendon. Brendon smiled weakly, the awkwardness of the situation too loud for his brain (which was running on almost no sleep) to disguise. “Be sure to come back if you notice any problems or anything unusual,” the nurse continued, too busy to pay attention to the social intricacies of their interaction. “The elevator's down there on the left.” Brendon thanked her and turned the chair in the direction she'd indicated. Ryan expressed his gratitude towards her and asked that she extend it towards the other hospital workers who'd tended to him on his short stay. She assured him she would and then hurried off in the other direction.

Brendon took a deep breath and began pushing Ryan towards the elevator. He'd stored the mixed bundle of clothes in a little net bag on the back of the wheelchair which brushed his knees slightly as he walked. The journey in the elevator was quiet but unawkward. Ryan declined Brendon's offer to put the medication bag in with the bundle of clothes and an old couple joined them on the second floor, smiling warmly at them both as they stepped slowly into the elevator.  
  
Walking out into the sun was strange after spending so long under artificial lights. The street was glowing with freshly risen sunlight, pale and pure as if so far untainted by the coming day’s events. Brendon slowed to a stop a few feet in front of the hospital.

“What is it?” Ryan asked, looking straight ahead so as to keep his torso steady.

Brendon had suddenly realised the potential problems with trying to get Ryan into a taxi. It had taken enough effort, and pain on Ryan’s part, to move him from the hospital bed to his chair. Attempting to ease him in and out of a taxi whilst squishing the wheelchair in with them was something Brendon thought best to avoid, though he couldn’t bring to mind any alternative solution.

When he voiced these concerns Ryan nodded his head in agreement.

“My, uh, my apartment isn’t too far from here actually. We could walk, if it’s easier? Well, _you_ could walk…”

Brendon chuckled and proceeded to brush off Ryan’s repeated assertions that he didn’t have to do this.

They set off down the sidewalk, Ryan briefly describing how to get to his building with the help of mutually known landmarks. As they walked, Brendon found himself holding back laughter at the comic nature of the situation. It was around 5 in the morning and they were walking down one of the busier LA streets, two ex’s who hadn’t spoken in three years until last night, one in hospital scrubs and the other pushing him in his wheelchair; they must have looked peculiar even by the forgiving standards of Los Angeles. Brendon bit his lip and tried to supress the bubbling amusement for Ryan’s sake, who’d always found Brendon’s laughter infectious, to save him from the earlier suffering when he’d tried to laugh.

It was an oddly clarifying moment, walking in the gentle light of a city just waking up. It seemed fitting for the unusual circumstances which had blossomed from the moment Brendon had answered the phone less than 12 hours before. You rarely found yourself in a boring situation if you happened to be awake when the sun was rising. Finally stumbling home after a wild night out; proudly strutting the walk of shame like a catwalk; driving to the airport to catch a plane; wheeling your ex-boyfriend home from the hospital. The early hours of the morning held enough of the night’s reckless honesty to make a 12 hour day seem freeing and filled with potential.

 

~~~

 

Ryan's house was a modest flat on the 4th floor. Thankfully there was a fully functioning elevator, or Brendon wasn't sure how they'd have managed to get Ryan up four flights of stairs unaided. When he unlocked the door, a familiar tan dog came scrambling towards them, skidding over the polished wood floor. Dottie ran straight past Ryan and leap up at Brendon's legs, wagging her tail excitedly. 

 

“Hey Dots!” Brendon said indulgingly, scratching behind the dog's ears and rubbing her belly from side to side so the whole brown body swayed along with the attached tail. 

It was odd seeing Dottie again, she'd been such a consistent presence throughout the years Brendon and Ryan had dated and yet, being a dog, was entirely removed from any of the drama involved in the breakup. Dottie hadn't had to mediate between the two bitter men, Dottie hadn't been forced to struggle keeping in contact with them both, Dottie wasn't standing there awkwardly behind the elephant of past words: Dottie was just happy to see an old friend. 

“Looks like somebody missed you.” Ryan said from his wheelchair. 

Brendon stood up awkwardly, closing the door behind them. 

“Um…” he began, looking round the unfamiliar flat. Seeing Ryan's things laid out in such an alien environment was strangely unsettling; all his little trinkets and keepsakes which Brendon had spent over two years surrounded by, positioned on unfamiliar furniture. Something about it tugged at Brendon's heart, like realising a particular movie or toy from your childhood hadn't been uniquely specific to you, that other children had identical teddy bears and blankets, torn in separate places, missing the dark patch of fur coloured blue by an errant felt-tip, faded in one corner like some twisted parallel universe version of comfort. “Where do you want to be?”

Ryan thought for a moment, biting the inside of his lip. 

“Uh... the bed I suppose?”

There was almost some silent mutual agreement to ignore the awkwardness and unavoidable innuendo of the situation. Brendon nodded and manoeuvred Ryan's wheelchair into the room he specified. If being alone in Ryan's flat had felt uncomfortably intimate, the two of them moving into his bedroom felt 10 times that. Brendon began picking up the scattered pillows and organising them into something that looked like it might be at least slightly comfortable. Pulling back the covers revealed a pair of Ryan's boxers which Brendon grabbed and threw to the corner of the room before either of them could let things lapse into an awkward silence. It was no big deal, he'd sucked Ryan's dick for fucks sake, they could act like mature adults and not start screaming about a pair of pants. 

“Okay,” Brendon said after he'd moved the wheelchair as close to the side of Ryan's bed as it would go. “This is probably gonna hurt again, but you'll be able to lie there for hours once it's over.”

Ryan grimaced but used his good arm and unbroken leg to slowly shuffle himself forward, each movement punctuated with short gasps of pain. Brendon positioned himself half on the bed and slowly helped Ryan fully out of the chair and into a sitting position on the dark blue bedsheets. He watched as Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pain of exertion ease out of him. 

“Covers on or off?” Brendon asked softly. Ryan slumped down, looking exhausted. 

“On. Thanks. These pajamas are like fucking paper but no way in hell am I moving again to take them off.” As he spoke he yawned widely, then smiled at Brendon. He was about to continue speaking but Brendon cut him off. 

“I'll just go grab you a glass of water before I go, you're probably dehydrated.”

Brendon hurried off to the kitchen he'd seen earlier and started searching through the cupboards for glasses. He didn't want to hear a long spiel of Ryan thanking him, it was just too much. Even though he knew it would be sincere (and objectively Ryan was way in Brendon's dept) Brendon couldn't bear the decisiveness of it; an elaborative thankyou was a marker of how far they'd become strangers to eachother. Part of him worried that if something like that was laid out between them, all the past months of being 'over it' would come crashing down around him. It wasn't something he'd thought possible until that moment, but apparently the bricks of his new Ryan-free life were built on flimsier foundations than he'd realised. He wondered if Spencer could tell. 

The water filled up the glass smoothly, leaving a thin film of bubbles just below the rim where Brendon caught it before it overflowed. He watched as the clear liquid popped minutely and began to settle. Ryan's kitchen was unusually tidy, in comparison to both the rest of the apartment and Brendon's memory of him. Brendon had always been the one to keep their place clean, picking up plates and glasses after them both. It was just something Ryan didn't even think to do. 

Carrying the glass back into the living room Brendon observed the shift back to normality: old mugs of coffee, scrunched up paper, books and records pulled off and unreplaced on their shelves. Dottie weaved around his feet, still overjoyed by the sudden return of her old companion. Brendon gestured her to stay by her bed; the last thing Ryan needed was a dog jumping excitedly onto his chest or shoulder without warning. 

Ryan's eyes were shut when Brendon reappeared in his bedroom and he made no movement to heed any awareness of Brendon's presence. Brendon tiptoed carefully over to the side of the bed and gently set the glass of water next to Ryan's head. 

“Thanks Bren… it was good to see you again.”

Ryan hardly moved his lips when he spoke, talking in the way a person does when they're some negligible technicality away from falling asleep. 

Brendon swallowed hard and drew his hand away from the glass, wiping it on his jeans and quietly slipping out the door. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight so I'm gonna aim to update roughly once a week, not gonna name a particular day or anything at the minute but just expect a new chapter every 7ish days depending on how busy I am.
> 
> Once again thankyou for all the lovely comments and cheers to the people who've dropped a kudos or bookmarked/subscribed, y'all keep me young.

Brendon stared unseeingly at the mass of clothes spinning around inside the washer. To anyone passing by he must have looked bored, staring into space as he waited for the cycle to finish. Really Brendon was just thinking.

 He’d stood leaning against Ryan’s bedroom door for a few minutes after closing it, wandering what to do next; which option was the right one to take and which he was going to take. For the first time in a while he wasn’t so sure the two aligned as much as they should.

 After dropping a handful of biscuits into Dottie’s bowl, Brendon had re-entered Ryan’s bedroom to gather the bunched up clothes from inside the net bag on the back of the wheelchair. Ryan didn’t stir while Brendon rooted around and he took a moment to glance at the paper bag of painkillers the doctor had handed Ryan earlier, making a mental note of their required dosage. Ryan wouldn’t need another one for just under 3 hours.

Laundromats were oddly catalytic places for Brendon; for everyone, he supposed. They forced you to sit unmoving for the length of one washing and one drying cycle, with no TV or time enough to get anything meaningful done. That’s a lot of time for thinking. Brendon hadn’t spent the whole time thinking though, approximately 16 minutes ago he’d made a call to Spencer - he knew the specific time because his phone was still clutched tightly in his hand, left open on the outgoing calls tab. It was this phone call which had compacted and speeded up his reflections even more, drawing him further into the nesting doll of his current thoughts. He’d initially called Spencer to ask him to check in on Bogart but naturally it hadn’t been long until the subject of why exactly Brendon couldn’t do it himself came up.

 Spencer had been more surprised than anything. He couldn’t understand why Brendon had even gone to the hospital at all; he should have called Jon; could have told the doctor he didn’t know Ryan anymore. It was the first time they’d spoken about him in 2 years.

 After several minutes of Brendon convincing Spencer that he was just doing Ryan a favour, nothing more, Spencer had agreed to check in on Bogart. It was only when Brendon had hung up that he began to feel a creeping sense of having lied to himself. He _thought_ he was just helping Ryan out but the conversation with Spencer had unsettled him, brought him back to reality in a strange way, as if the violence of Ryan’s accident had done the entire opposite of what you’d expect.

 The clothes went round and round and round. Ryan’s bloodied jeans and t-shirt and dark grey sweater, in with Brendon’s jacket, which was now equally blood-stained after being crushed together with Ryan’s things in the wheelchair pocket. They all went round and round, in one mass like they had done when Brendon used to bring both his and Ryan’s washing down, both having borrowed from each other so often that the distinction had become obsolete. The water was becoming an unpleasant pale pink, something Brendon hadn’t thought possible until now; it reminded him of a new-born baby, all fresh and raw-looking, and no matter how ugly it was you’d have to tell the mother it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He turned away from the washer.

 

~~~

 

Brendon paused as he felt a vibration in his pocket and reached for his phone reflexively. He was stopped in the middle of aisle twenty-five, two rows into the Walmart nearest Ryan's apartment. He'd reasoned that since it wasn't far from the laundromat he may as well grab some groceries, it wasn't like Ryan would be able to go shopping for himself anytime in the next few days. There was extra food for Dottie, milk, cereal, coffee, cheese whiz... just the general things Brendon reasoned it was acceptable to pick up for someone you hardly knew. He ignored the handful of music magazines hiding behind the toilet roll and the fact that he's spent a good few minutes searching for the particular brand of coffee which had been Ryan's favourite. That wasn't weird. Weird would be purposely ignoring the voice in Brendon's head which sprang up like markers in a book reminding him of all the little things like that which he knew about Ryan; things which had lain dormant and unused for over two years. 

Looking down at the phone in his hand, Brendon realised something wasn't quite right: it wasn't his phone. It was Ryan's. He had forgotten to take it out after hurriedly pocketing the contents of the clear tray as they were leaving the hospital. Now it displayed a message, clear as a bell, from Jon Walker: ‘This week's been great, hope ur doing okay. Plane lands at 10 tomorrow morning so I'll come over to see you at 12ish? Cassie says hi!'. Brendon took in a shaky lungful of air, suddenly hit by decaying twist of nostalgia. He really missed Jon, had known as much already, but something about seeing this casual message, almost from behind a pane of glass, made him suddenly realise just how much he'd not only lost Ryan, but Jon too. Fuck. He slipped the phone back in his pocket and continued down the aisle. 

 

~~~

 

When he unlocked the door into Ryan's apartment there was a momentary silence before Dottie came bounding towards him, evidently content with the reappearance of Brendon in her life after three years absence. He ruffled her ears for a moment before gently pushing the door closed behind him and dumping a pile of bags on the counter. He stood for a moment, listening for any other movement, but the apartment was silent. Ryan must be asleep. Judging by the antique grandfather clock – which would have looked out of place had it belonged to anyone else- it was half an hour before Ryan needed to take his next dose of painkillers. Brendon set about putting the groceries away and handing Dottie one or two of the dog treats he'd picked up by the checkout. She wagged her tail approvingly before wiggling off to the dark red blanket by the TV. To kill time Brendon began gathering stray dishes from around the room, piling the mass of mugs and crumb covered plates neatly by the sink. When the clock hand reached half past, Brendon grabbed a new glass of water and made his way over to Ryan's bedroom, pausing momentarily by the door before gently swinging it open. 

Ryan lay quietly in bed, his chest rising and falling softly with breath. He looked so peaceful compared to earlier that Brendon was reluctant to wake him, but it would be worse in the long run if they waited for the painkillers to entirely wear off. 

In the bag there were two tubs of little pearly white pills. One for Ryan to use in the first few days, which made him considerably drowsy, and one full of simple painkillers for use in the weeks afterwards. Brendon wondered if he'd be able to hardly wake Ryan up, just enough for him to safely swallow the pill but also be able to fall straight back to sleep afterwards. He set the glass next to the other untouched one and, carefully holding the pill in one hand, stroked Ryan's face softly until his eyes flickered open. It may have looked suggestive, but Brendon wasn't about to roughly shake someone with multiple broken bones, that was just something you didn't do. 

“Hey Ryan”.

Ryan's eyes blinked blearily a few times and then a slight tension of pain creased over his eyebrows. Not as bad as earlier, but easily noticeable none the less. 

“Why are you still here?” He asked, confused more than annoyed. 

“I figured you might need waking up to take your meds. Here,” Brendon said, offering Ryan the glass of water and dime-sized painkiller. 

“Is this some elaborate ruse to guilt trip me with kindness?” Ryan asked with a wry grin after throwing back the pill with ease. “Yknow, most ex's go for violence, key their car, egg their house...”

Brendon smiled at the ease of conversation, pleased neither of them were stumbling over the immense amount of metaphorical baggage littering the room. Although, Ryan was pretty high on painkillers at that moment so... take what you can get. 

“You don't even have a car dude, and your apartment’s on the 4th floor, you left me no option.”

Ryan let out a single, breathy chuckle, apparently all he could manage with the state his ribs were in. 

“Oh by the way-” Brendon added, pulling the phone from his pocket. It was obvious his plan of only half waking Ryan up had completely failed so he may as well fill the time. “I forgot I'd grabbed your phone at the hospital... you've got a message from Jon.”

There was a silence as Ryan remembered the implications of their breakup hadn't just been between the two people in this room. 

“Huh,” was all Ryan could get out. “I take it you've read it?” Brendon felt like he'd intruded massively, and he probably had. Ryan had been completely absent from his life for 3 years, that was like snooping on some random strangers texts. Brendon nodded. 

“What did he say?”

Ryan seemed unflustered to the point of delirium. The painkillers must be kicking in again. Brendon watched Ryan's face carefully as he relayed the message and something about its softness in the veiled late-morning light brought back Ryan's parting words from earlier that morning. “Thanks Bren.”

“Hey man I was thinking... I might crash on your sofa for tonight, if that’s okay with you? I just don't exactly feel comfortable leaving you in this state - you got hit by a fucking car, you need someone to wake you up for your meds, Dottie needs feeding,  _you_  need feeding.” Brendon spoke in a rush, sure it was the right thing to do but worried he was overstepping the boundaries in this particular situation.

Ryan looked at him like this was the last thing he'd expected, but also had yet again not considered who would take Brendon’s place if he said no. 

“It's no big deal, only till Jon gets back. Besides, it would be nice to see him after so long...”

“Brendon,” Ryan spoke up before he could add any more, “you don't need to do this. Any of this. I fucked you over and I fucked Jon and Spencer over and you've been nothing but kind to me these past few hours and I don't deserve it. I don't fucking deserve it Brendon.”

Brendon was taken aback by the sudden intensity with which Ryan spoke; in his own selfishness he’d ignored that, even though Ryan has been the one to end their relationship, the strangeness of their current situation must be affecting him too, probably more so with the cocktail of pain, drugs, and mental exhaustion he was going through.  

“We're practically strangers and here you are bringing me fucking water and offering to stay over to look after me; you should be angry! Why aren't you mad and furious and telling me to fuck off?! Why!?” Ryan had been getting gradually more and more upset as he spoke and the last word came out with a sob, preluding a wave of jolting tears which were a mixture of emotion and pain. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Brendon said softly, climbing on to the bed next to Ryan and pulling wrapping an arm round him. Ryan leaned into the hug and buried his face in Brendon's t shirt, Brendon gently stroking through the brown curls still crispy with blood. 

“You’re just in shock, a lot’s happened, it’s okay just breathe Ry. I’m not mad at you, haven’t been mad at you for the past 2 years at least. You’ve had a stressful day, I think me turning up was a shock to both of us but it’s okay because I’m here now and I’m going to make sure you’re alright until Jon gets here tomorrow okay?”

Ryan breathed heavily and Brendon felt him slowly nodding. There’s something about past relationships, if they’re close, which never really disappears. It takes a lot to completely separate two people who’ve meant a lot and experienced a lot with eachother. Brendon felt it in the weakening of Ryan’s muscles and the damp tears on his shirt.

“C’mon, back to sleep. I’ll wake you up in 3 hours for your next dose of painkillers.”

Brendon lowered Ryan back onto the pillows which he quickly plumped up a bit first. Ryan wiped his face with his uninjured hand and smiled at Brendon.

“I’m sorry Bren, I really am.”

Brendon brushed it off. “Stop apologising and get some rest idiot.”

Ryan remained serious despite Brendon’s teasing tone.

“No, I don’t mean about this. That’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for the past 3 years.”

Brendon’s expression sobered and he shuffled awkwardly on his feet. Despite the fact that Ryan was fighting the urge to sleep, his sincere gaze still felt like it was undressing his thoughts from the outside in. Brendon nodded.

“Okay.”

Ryan bobbed his head in acknowledgment and then allowed his eyes to drift shut. Brendon reached forward to grab the old glass of water before hurrying out of the room, this time leaving the door slightly open in case Ryan woke up and needed something. There was a different atmosphere to the apartment, Brendon felt, after that exchange. Something more permanent, like Brendon wasn’t just a momentary guest in the life of someone who’d become a stranger. He sat down carefully on the sofa, perching between the piles of miscellaneous papers and un-replaced vinyl records. The surroundings didn’t feel so unfamiliar; maybe it was because he’d been in the apartment once before, this morning, but instinctively Brendon knew it was something else. Something he was currently choosing to ignore, just like the way Dottie was already curled up at his feet as if she didn’t expect him to be going anywhere soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got some mad mixed feelings about this chapter but there are some bits i really love so i hope you love it too!
> 
> don't forget to keep leave comments + kudos cause that's what drives me to write! and i love hearing what you all think :) thanks for all the lovely feedback so far

The second conversation with Spencer had more of an exasperated tone. He couldn't see why Brendon was going to so much fuss if he cared as little about Ryan as he protested that he did. They agreed on one point though: that it would be harsh to abandon Ryan if there really was no one else who could look after him. Spencer assured Brendon that he'd make sure Bogart was well cared for and told him to say hi to Jon when his plane got in tomorrow. Brendon told him he would and hung up the phone. Part of Brendon was glad that Spencer agreed staying with Ryan was a good idea, it made his choices feel more objectively validated; the other part of him was concerned about why he felt he needed such a decision approved by someone else. 

They'd toyed with the idea of Spencer popping over to see Ryan too but that was quickly discarded after Brendon recounted the earlier breakdown Ryan had had. It was probably best for them all if this remained a one-time thing, as low key as possible. 

Now that Brendon actually had explicit permission to be hanging around Ryan's apartment he decided to make the most of his time there by tidying up a bit more. By the looks of it Ryan hadn't cleaned up for several weeks at least and it was unlikely a motorcycle accident would suddenly awaken a thirst for organisation in him. The sleeping meds seemed pretty strong so Brendon was free to be as noisy as required. To be on the safe side though, he shut Ryan's door, leaving the pile of magazines next to his bed just in case. It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling, cleaning up after Ryan, something which Brendon firmly pushed to the back of his mind as he began selecting a record from the large set of shelves next to the TV. There was a loose order to them, like a system of alphabetisation that was only vaguely adhered to. Finally he came upon the one he was looking for, only slightly out of place, amongst the 'E's. The worn cardboard case was comfortingly familiar, worn in all the right places and still smelling of decades old mothballs. He smiled as he placed the record onto the turntable, the action awakening some old muscle memory inside him as he reflexively reached for the needle. The sounds of David Bowie back in 1971 filled the apartment as Brendon began dancing around the room, singing along with the words towards a distinctly unamused Dottie. 

It took Brendon a couple of hours to clean the apartment, such was the mess Ryan had created. He’d refilled the sink three times washing the various dishes scattered round the living room; why the guy couldn’t get a dishwasher like everyone else was a mystery. He now sat on the floor, reorganising the records back into artist alphabetical order. There was a niggling feeling which had been slowly developing in Brendon’s stomach as he worked and was now getting difficult to ignore. Cleaning someone’s things and touching all their belongings usually feels strangely personal; he’d once helped Dallon tidy his apartment in the early days of their friendship and it had struck him then how at odds it felt to their relatively distant relationship. You’re dabbling through all aspects of someone’s everyday life, the mugs they grab sleepily in the morning to fill with coffee, the books they curl up to read on bad days, the food they eat, the music they play... and it's all so alien to you. Except to Brendon, sitting amongst familiar furniture sorting through records he’d thumbed through countless times before, it wasn't. It was all too like home.

Taking a steady breath he stood up from the floor. The records could wait, they'd only be messed up again in a few days. It was 40 minutes until Ryan's next dose of painkillers, he'd go check on him.  
  
The room was dimly lit even though they were heading into the afternoon, the curtains filtering out any harsh light that might try to worm it's way in. Ryan was sat slightly upright, staring down at the magazine in front of him. His hands were gripping it loosely, almost as if he was forgetting he had to hold it. At the sound of the door he looked up, smiling at Brendon.

'You're awake', Brendon stated blankly, surprised Ryan had managed to sit up and read already, slightly hurt that he hadn't called for him.  
'I mean, shit, its close', Ryan replied with a breathy chuckle. 'Don't have a clue what I've just read, everything feels really... smooooth'.

Brendon raised an eyebrow. That explained a lot.

'Meds finally kicking in properly then?'

Ryan let the magazine fall and stared deep into Brendon's eyes.

'Oh you have no idea.'

Brendon took a gulp of air and Ryan smirked, the sudden inversion of control had thrown him off kilter. He was supposed to be looking after Ryan, but the wild look in his eyes said otherwise; Brendon recognised it and right now it did not mean anything good.

'Remember that time we all tried that absinthe Jon’s brother had got off someone?'

Brendon nodded, 'all' referred to him Ryan, Jon and spencer. The night was surprisingly clear in his memory, considering. He remembered feelings and sensations more than events though, it was all very muddled.

'And someone thought it was a bright idea to pass a couple of blunts round too?' Ha, yeah...  'Well, I don't feel like that right now. I'm half there, though. It just reminded me of it. That was a good night.'

Damn fucking straight Ryan didn't feel like that now, he'd have some serious questions about the hospitals painkiller distribution if he did. That night hasn't felt real, 90% of it probably hadn't been. It was like a fever wrapped in a bottle of jack wrapped in 3 trays of weed brownies. It was a great night.

“Wow man... at least you're feeling better,” Brendon said with a chuckle. Ryan smiled widely. “You feel up to a shower? It's just you're a bit... sticky... and you're probably gonna want to pass out again after your next lot of painkillers.”

Ryan wiggled his eyebrows, “Oh the times you've tried to get me into the shower because I'm 'sticky'”

Brendon rolled his eyes, great. Drugged up, sexual predator Ryan. He should have seen this coming, he knew Ryan well enough, he hadn't expected the painkillers to be quite that strong though...

“Yes, only this time it's blood and you're in hospital scrubs - not the sexiest situation. I'll go turn the shower on, do you think you can manage?”

Ryan had broken out another grin when Brendon acknowledged the innuendo rather than brushing past it and his smile grew even wider when he continued talking.

'Bren, I've got multiple casts on, I need someone to help me.'

Ryan pursed his lips flirtatiously and Brendon sighed loudly. The bastard was right. Fucking hell. He was trying so hard to remain neutral, to not cross any lines or dig up any old feelings. He'd felt okay dancing carefully near them, before at the hospital and later in the supermarket, but now that Ryan was completely vulnerable and out of it he felt more accountable. His help had been rejected at first and that'd made him feel better about it, for some reason, but now Ryan was being overly flirty he'd been yanked back to reality. This wasn't something they could ever have, they couldn't go back after all the hurt and heartbreak, Brendon knew that, and Ryan, somewhere behind his drug induced clouding, knew that too.

Earlier, Brendon had been hoping to stay as long as possible, meet Jon, maybe hang around to help a bit more. Now he wished he could leave straight away.

“Come on,” he said coldly, “we'll wash your hair in the sink and try wipe you down a bit with a flannel.”

Ryan's expression sank a bit, like a child whose parents refused to play along with some game. Brendon turned away. The last thing he needed was a sad, pouty Ryan trying to break his resolve.  
  
It was less of a hassle to get Ryan in the wheelchair this time, the painkillers were evidently doing their job. About time.  
  
The sink was just high enough to lean Ryan's head over, but even so some water ended up on his shoulders and the floor.

“Sorry,” Brendon said for the fourth time as a spray of lukewarm water dribbled down Ryan's neck. There was a grumble in response as Brendon rolled his eyes. Too fucking bad, he'd lost count of how many times him, Spencer, and Jon had told Ryan bikes weren’t worth the risk and gently nudged him to get something else. Brendon's nudging had been more on the side of good natured nagging; they'd joked about how he sounded like some stereotypical middle aged wife, complaining about how dangerous her husband's beautiful Harley was. But behind the joking Brendon had always felt a niggling bubble of anxiety whenever Ryan went out in the bike. It was common knowledge bikers always came off miles worse than whichever asshole car driver had slammed into them, but whenever Brendon heard those statistics or news reports his mind filed them away for the next time Ryan nipped across town for something, or travelled upstate to some event. And now it had happened. He couldn't tell whether the strange feeling in his chest was relief it hadn't occurred when they were seeing eachother or unease for the very same reason. He cared less about Ryan now, that figured, but there was no one to look after him. Obviously Jon would be around after tomorrow, but he had his own life to get on with. Cassie wouldn't want to lose her husband for several weeks while he slept on his friend's couch and Brendon doubted Jon would consider it anyway. Of course he'd keep an eye on Ryan, but if Brendon still lived there he'd be with him day and night whenever he needed anything.

But he didn't still live there. Or rather, Ryan didn't still live with him. He'd been stupid to consider the chance of staying longer to keep an eye on things. Ryan hadn't wanted to be in the same house as him 3 years ago so it wasn't as if things would have changed since then. He'd stay the night then leave just before Jon showed up. No need to stir up the past more than necessary.

Ryan would have a tough time convincing Jon that Brendon had been there at all, it'd probably sound like some bizarre fever dream, a random memory that had surfaced at the front of his mind and danced across the screen for a moment or two. Like a passing ghost.  
  
“Ow”, Ryan said sharply as Brendon jerked his head up suddenly.

Brendan apologised and began towelling Ryan's curling brown hair softly. He'd been working on autopilot and forgotten the job needed extra care. Ryan was now facing the other way with Brendon stood behind him, rubbing the towel in methodical motions. He breathed deeply and quietly, trying to push off how much the situation was affecting him. Because it was. Too fucking much.  
  
“Right, up onto your good leg.”  
  
Ryan nodded, the boyish light gone from his face. Now he just looked tired.  
  
The two of them managed to get him on his feet, or foot, as the case was. After enquiring, Brendon managed to procure a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from Ryan's closet. The shirt was a pale blue thing, soft from over washing with a fading Pink Floyd '74 logo on it. Brendon didn't recognise it, which was why he chose it. The Morrisey shirt and Sgt. Pepper one next to it were something else to add to the 'things in Ryan's new apartment we’re ignoring' corner of Brendon's brain. He'd worn both those particular shirts himself, more times than he could count. The Morrisey one had been from some thrift shop downtown and the Beatles one had been Ryan's before Brendon even met him. He didn't doubt they still fitted him, Ryan was the same slim, almost lanky figure he'd always been. Brendon ignored memories of wiping cum off their stomachs with the Sgt. Pepper shirt. Sorry Paul, George, John and Ringo. Gay sex probably wasn’t something that had crossed their minds when recording the Lonely Hearts Club. Quite ironic really, Brendon could really do with his own lonely hearts club right about now. _It’s wonderful to be here. It's certainly a thrill_. It had been early on, when they were still hiding from Jon and Spencer, when sticky sheets and ruffled bed covers would give them away. It was astonishing it took them so long to figure it out, the four of them spent enough time at Brendon's apartment. Maybe that's why it didn't seem peculiar: so what if Ryan was always with Brendon? They were _all_ always with Brendon. That he was consistently at the apartment before both of them made no difference, maybe he was just punctual. After all, that tends to be what springs to mind first, several thoughts before you begin considering the possibility that two of your best friends are having wild sex behind your back. Brendon had always been openly bi, but Ryan's role in the relationship had been a whole 360 to Jon and Spencer. They'd gotten over the shock well before Ryan and Brendon finally told them though, 'give us some credit' they'd said. Apparently it only took so many caught flirty glances and ruffled hair do's when turning up early for both of them to twig something.  
  
Getting Ryan in and out of his clothes was about as difficult as you'd expect. They decided cutting off the paper scrubs was best, it's not like Ryan would need them and any wriggling and bending he avoided was a blessing in his eyes.

Thankfully the nurses had left his pants on and Brendon gladly followed their lead, helping Ryan straight into his pajama bottoms without even mentioning the potential awkwardness. Another day wouldn’t hurt, Jon could help him put some new underwear on tomorrow.

He tried to ignore the fact Ryan Ross was standing practically naked infront of him and ploughed on through the fluttering warmth which formed at the bottom of his stomach as he felt Ryan's bare skin against his body. It was nostalgia, nothing more.

He was too distracted with his own feelings to notice the unnerving lack of innuendos coming from Ryan. Brendon's earlier brusqueness had killed his flirty mood and as the meds wore off his blissed out high was replaced by creeping pain as it began to trickle back into motion throughout his body.  
There wasn't much for Brendon to clean; Ryan's ribs were bound up in order to heal properly and one of his legs was covered pretty thoroughly in plaster. What he could wipe he went over gently, careful to avoid the worst of the bruising and cuts. It wasn't much but it was the best they could manage for now.  
  
“Uh, Brendon”, Ryan said awkwardly, “I need to piss”.  
  
Brendon stopped short, he'd been about to help Ryan back into his chair and for some reason the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Of course the guy needed to fucking pee, Brendon wondered how long he'd been holding it.  
  
“Do you need me to- uh...”  
  
“I can hold my own fucking dick, thanks”, Ryan snapped, “I know that's such a horrific prospect to you.”  
  
Brendon bit his tongue. Ryan was heavily medicated, in considerably pain, and both physically and mentally exhausted – none of this was really aimed specifically at him, yet there was a tiny twinge in the pit of his stomach that he had to push down and ignore.  
  
“Just help me get these trousers down a bit, I can handle it from there.”  
  
Brendon obediently wiggled Ryan's pajama pants a little way down his thighs and then bowed out of the bathroom.

Even though it was obviously the protocol thing to do now, it still felt alien to actively avoid Ryan's nakedness. Those were the kinds of courtesies extended towards everyone but very close friends or lovers. Ryan was neither to him. It made sense. That didn't make the nagging feeling in his heart any less noticeable.  
  
After a few moments he crept back in, relieved to see Ryan had managed to get his pajama pants back up on his own this time.  
  
They didn't speak as Ryan was manoeuvred back into the chair and transferred to the bed. The silence wasn't so much awkward as empty; neither of them had anything to say, and Ryan's earlier outburst hadn't been so uncalled for. They both drifted along in the alienation caused by 3 years of separation, aware of both how present and absent it was. Their relationship had become one of extremes: in some aspects they were strangers, in some they were no less close that they had been several years ago. 'Ex' never seemed like it had enough weight to describe someone you used to sleep with, and date, and love. It didn't acknowledge all the wasted memories and things you'd never need to know again, but still knew like the back of your hand. It didn't cover the hurt and the times they'd cross your mind for months and years afterwards. It didn't alert the world that apathy and heartache could exist at the same time and for the same person. It was just two letters. EX. a mark on a treasure map, an incorrect answer, a kiss, a winning move in a game of noughts and crosses. Or a losing one. Brendon thought it was wholly inadequate.  
  
Looking at Ryan in bed, Brendon almost felt pity at how tired he looked. Not so much sleep-tired but generally exhausted with stress and pain. He helped him swallow down the next lot of painkillers and kept an eye on his fluttering eyelids until they fully closed and his breathing evened out.  
  
The next 3 hours passed slowly. The apartment was spotless (and Brendon had given the records up as a lost cause) so he found himself reading quietly in one corner of the sofa. Dottie was settled contently at his feet, snoozing away in blissful ignorance, slightly out of sync with the ticking grandfather clock.  
  
The book he'd picked up was actually pretty good, some obscure thing about the guy who helped make the atomic bomb. Although, that wasn't the focus of the plot. It was odd. Odd but good.  
At one point the narrator explained the concept of a karrass. That people are part of a large group, a karrass, who all play important parts in eachothers lives and are bound together by mutual influence, whether they like it or not. It also mentioned that some people have a duprass: like a karrass but existing only of two people. Those two people were the only ones with any true meaning to eachother, everyone else was just circumstantial. Their lives would be intertwined forever, inevitably. Sounded like a load of existentially romantic bullshit to Brendon. People dropped in and out of eachothers lives all the time, there was no 'fate' drawing you all together.  
  
The quiet was disrupted by Brendon's phone alarm going off: half an hour until Ryan's next painkillers. He figured he'd better make some lunch, or early dinner, breakfast technically as Ryan had slept most of the morning. Even though he wouldn't feel like eating there wasn't going to be much healing going on with an empty stomach. Soup would be easy, nutritious too.  
  
The kitchen was much more pleasant to work in now the surfaces were clear and Brendon shuffled happily around, heating a can of chicken broth on the hob and sawing off some slices of fresh bread. Ryan still had pre-sliced stuff in the fridge but Brendon had picked up a nice fresh loaf so it'd be stupid not to use it. It was probably better for you too.  
  
He'd been listening for sounds of movement but had heard nothing; Ryan must still be asleep this time.  Brendon finished heating the soup and poured it into a bowl, grabbing a plate for the two sliced of bread which he'd now buttered.  
  
Sure enough, on opening the bedroom door he saw Ryan had hardly moved from where Brendon had left him. He placed the food carefully on Ryan's bedside cabinet and nudged him awake. Ryan’s eyes flickered open and Brendon saw a momentary look of surprise in them before the events of the past day obviously slotted back into place. He tried not to obsess over whether it had been a pleasant look of surprise of not. Ryan twisted his head slightly and followed Brendon’s arms down as they reached to pick up the soup bowl again.

“I made you some dinner, or lunch, or whatever this is. Thought you should at least try to eat something.”

Ryan smiled. Clearly someone’s back in a good mood again, thought Brendon.

“Thanks. Um, would you mind propping me up a bit?”

Brendon nodded and put the soup down again to re-arrange Ryan’s pillows.

He didn’t want to act like Ryan was a complete child so they agreed on Brendon sitting by the bed holding the bowl while Ryan used his good arm to spoon the soup, occasionally requesting slices of bread from the bedside table. It was nice not to be arguing again, just figuring out what worked and what didn’t.

After he’d finished, Ryan sat quietly for a second, neither asking Brendon to leave or requesting that he stay.

“Sorry for snapping earlier,” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

Brendon smirked slightly. “Just sorry for that? Not the obvious flirting as well?”

Ryan smiled softly. “Nah just the snapping.”

Brendon raised an eyebrow.

“I’m kidding, sorry for that too.”

Brendon sighed. “You do realise it’s fine? Really. I’m the one who offered to help; you’re on too many drugs for me to hold you accountable for anything.”

Ryan made an expression like he would have shrugged if it weren’t for the dislocated shoulder.

“Yeah but… you know.”

Brendon nodded. He did.

“I um,” Ryan continued, “don’t know if you wanna borrow some pajamas. Just grab something from the draw. There should be some blankets and stuff in the hallway closet as well.”

Brendon nodded. Just the thought of sleep made him suddenly realise how tired he was: he’d been awake over 36 hours now, and not 36 particularly easy ones either. He rooted around in the draw again and found another set of sweatpants and a t-shirt he didn’t recognise. His hand hovered over one of the worn, familiar ones he remembered wearing countless times but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“So you should be okay for another 6 hours or so now, you’ve got water and the meds don’t need to be taken so often but I’ll leave the door slightly open and just shout if you need anything okay?”

Brendon knew he sounded like a mum and Ryan smiled but nodded. Carrying the soup bowl and plate out with him Brendon left the door open a crack in case Ryan woke up before he did. The spare blankets were found in the hallway closet as promised and Brendon had never found a too-short, unforgiving sofa so appealing. So very appealing in fact that he drifted off almost immediately, without all the obsessive contemplation of the day’s events he’d been half expecting.

***

A loud noise woke Brendon from his place on the couch. For a few moments he was unsure of his surroundings; the room was dark, lacking the familiar comfort of the street lamp directly outside his window, and there was a loud ticking coming from somewhere to his right. His eyes adjusted to reveal Dottie curled up in her bed and the silhouettes of shelving and books. Ryan's place. Right. Grandfather clock. _Ryan's place_. He jumped up immediately, hurrying into the adjacent bedroom and hoping for the best.

“Ryan are you okay?”

Brendon spoke quickly and breathlessly, unconscious of how fast his heart was beating. Taking a step forward he drew back, gasping in pain as something sharp dug itself into his foot. Ryan was crying on the bed next to him, taking in heavy, saturated breaths which were interspersed with small whimpers. Unsure of what to attend to first, Brendon yanked the glass? Ceramic? Out of his foot and went round to the other side of Ryan's bed which was clear of broken things. The small figure next to him continued to heave in sobs, but when Brendon settled down next to him, Ryan clutched onto his shoulders like they were holding up the entire world.  
“Hey”, Brendon spoke softly, rubbing Ryan's arm and trying to ignore the dull pain pulsing in the sole of his foot. “Hey, what's wrong?”

Ryan sniffled into Brendon's shirt and spoke quietly, causing Brendon to lean his head down just to hear.

“I just tried to get the glass of water... but it was dark and my stupid arms were too weak. I'm too fucking tired Brendon.”

Brendon glanced over to the bedside cabinet but couldn't see anything in the dark. So it had been glass then. It unsettled him how _broken_ Ryan sounded, he’d almost have preferred it if he was angry and annoyed but instead all Brendon heard was a guy who desperately needed someone to tell him everything was going to be okay.

“You've been through a lot man, of course you're tired. Don't be so hard on yourself, you've gotta mend.”

Ryan fell into a heavier round of sobs as Brendon started talking, causing him to wonder what he'd said wrong.

“I can't do anything Bren. You're here, but what about tomorrow? What about the weeks after that? Jon's not gonna be here all the time, I wouldn't even ask that of him. I'm so fucking tired and alone... Bren, what am I gonna do?”

Brendon pulled Ryan closer to him, being careful not to put pressure on his ribs, and began gently stroking his hair. It was softer than earlier, free of the grit and congealed blood which had ringed his head like some grim halo.

“It'll work out Ry, don't worry about it. Jon'll make sure you're okay, I'm sure Cassie will understand. Hell, unless she's changed over the past 3 years she'll be over here herself cooking pies and lasagna for you.”

The sound of Ryan's breathing had evened out to regular, deep breaths, the kind someone makes when they're trying to slow down after a long cry. Neither of them moved for a long time and eventually Brendon assumed Ryan had gone back to sleep.   
  
“Where are you going?”

The voice sounded so small and lost that Brendon hardly noticed himself changing his mind.

“Nowhere,” he said, twisting round and reaching behind the curtains. “I'm just opening a window.” It was true, Ryan's body seemed to be overheating beneath the heavy covers and Brendon's own body heat wasn't likely to improve matters.

When he settled back down he did so slightly closer to Ryan, the shape of Ryan’s leg under the covers laying parallel to Brendon’s own on top of them. ‘First time you’ve been the one on top,’ a little voice of comic relief offered in the back of his mind. He didn’t even get a slight smile out before the thought of the broken glass on the floor, the cut on his foot, and the sofa he was supposed to sleeping on all marched their way into his thoughts, all the things he was abandoning to sleep next to Ryan Ross one last time. Because that was the truth of it, no matter how much he told himself it was purely in case Ryan needed him again; this time it was obvious what the right thing to do was and it was undeniably, unavoidably, and if he was honest with himself, still a little heartbreakingly, _not_ the thing he _was_ doing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone wondering the book brendon reads is cat's cradle by kurt vonnegut. i wanted to get rid of the beatles shirt bit cause it's so stupid and out of tone but it always makes me laugh so sorry lads i left it in :')


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god!?!? I am so sorry??! The days all kinda bleed into eachother in summer with the nice weather and everything so I didn't realise it had been almost three weeks!! I'll get you the chapter after this one before friday as well to make up for it :)

 

The room was bright when Brendon woke up. Fresh sunlight streamed through the wispy curtains and a soft breeze tumbled in through the open window making them dance softly. For a moment or two he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, make a physical promise with the day that he was awake and accountable to the world. The air was cool on his face and the warmth next to him felt comfortable and temped him back to sleep. He snapped opened his eyes.

A buzzing noise sounded on Ryan’s right and Brendon attempted to lean over to retrieve the phone. During the night Ryan’s head had moved onto his chest and Brendon’s hand had been resting low on his waist. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

The message was another one from Jon: ‘Just landed, see you in 20.’

Fuck, Brendon thought, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He managed to extract himself from Ryan’s sleepy grip and crawl out of bed without waking the peaceful figure.

In the rush to get changed Brendon allowed himself a moment to reflect on the humorous side to the situation. He was rushing to leave early before the guy left sleeping in bed woke up; despite the fact nothing remotely sexual had happened, Brendon felt far worse than he did about skipping on any one night stands. He’d slept with Ryan Ross, he’d _cuddled_ with Ryan Ross. Them being asleep was no excuse, any idiot knows that two people in bed will probably end up cuddling, especially if they’ve got several years of previous cuddling to normalize it. Ryan had been beyond emotionally compromised, hysterical crying and sexual innuendo was a hell of an unstable range for one evening, Brendon should have let him fall asleep then made his own way back to the sofa.

Too much time had passed for him to let Ryan Ross screw up his life again.

Back in the living room Dottie hauled herself up from the blanket and dozily wagged her tail at him.

‘Sorry Dots’, Brendon murmured as he neatly folded the shirt and joggers he’d borrowed to sleep in.    The thought crossed his mind to leave a note or something but he decided against it, better to leave and not look back… just like Ryan had done. He could see the appeal of complete severance.

Impulsively he ducked his head back into Ryan’s bedroom, allowing some weak part of himself to get what it wanted for the last time.

Ryan looked small amongst the crumpled duvet, especially with the human shaped gap on the right side of the bed. Brendon let himself look one last time, properly look, at the way the late morning sun played golden across Ryan’s face, turning the bruises velvet and the cuts to scarlet threads. The slight wind danced softly over his curls and his chest rose and fell with the same ease of the curtains swaying beside the window. One last time.

Brendon lingered for a moment in the kitchen then grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa and headed to the door. The clock next to him continued ticking away, constant and unwavering. As the lock closed behind him the noise disappeared, leaving only the sound of his own suddenly heavy breathing in the cold hallway. 

~~~

'You did what!?'

Spencer looked down at Brendon where he sat nestled in the brown sofa cushions, unconsciously picking at the label on his beer bottle out of anxiety. 

'That was literally it! We just slept! It's not like we hooked up for a night of wild sex after three years of zero contact when one of us has multiple injuries.'

Spencer was being ridiculous. Brendon knew how it sounded, but surely it was obvious neither of them had meant it like that; neither he nor Ryan had any reason to dredge up past memories or feelings. He loved Spencer, but the guy really needed to learn the boundaries between looking out for his friends and almost parental nagging. 

'You know damn well there's more to it than that. I helped you pick up the pieces after Ryan dumped you and I stayed with you until you realised those pieces were nothing but broken glass. Do you know how long that took? You were broken for _months_ Brendon, clinging to the scraps of that relationship like they were a handful of diamonds, like you still wanted him to walk right through that door and help you piece them back together into some little fairytale you'd both created. Stuff like that doesn't just go away Brendon, so don't try and pretend this doesn't mean anything. That boy ruined you, and I don't want to have to pick you up out of that again...'

The wind had been catching Spencer's hair as he spoke, swooping in the open window and making the brown whisps dance like coral. Brendon stood up and closed the window. 

'I get why you're concerned Spence, but you honestly have nothing to be worried about. You're right, stuff like that doesn't just go away, I remember perfectly well how much it tore me up, but I'm okay now, and one night comforting a guy who got hit by a fucking car isn't going to change that. '

Spencer eyes him warily, and Brendon wondered if he could tell that he was trying to convince himself as much as Spencer. If Spencer noticed anything, he decided to keep quiet. 

'If you're sure...'

'I'm sure.'

The conversation was closed after that and they moved on to discussing the upcoming baseball game.

‘Dallon’s coming over at about 6, said he’ll do a beer run on the way here’.

Brendon nodded. He’d forgotten about the game tonight, that would have been awkward to say the least. ‘Oh yeah sorry guys, Spencer’ll have to let you into my place, I’m busy looking after my injured ex-boyfriend, y’know, the one who broke my heart and left me torn up inside for months before I got over him? Yeah that one’… telling Spencer was one thing, but the rest of the guys? Not so much. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, they just wouldn’t understand like Spencer did. Spencer had seen the ups and downs of their entire relationship, he’d known Ryan since he was 11 or something, he knew how… intense things had been. Dan and Kenny hadn’t even met Brendon until 2 years ago, by which time Ryan was an unmentioned thing of the past. Dallon had tuned up right in the middle of that first messy year, so he’d seen some of what Brendon went through, but it had been from a distance, and nowhere near as bad as the first few weeks had been. Zach had been there since Brendon was a teenager, but there wasn’t the same closeness there had been with Ryan, Jon, and Spencer. The four of them were a group, inseparable like something plucked straight from a daytime sitcom. Well, obviously not so inseparable, but the point was that no-one outside the four of them seemed to understand the dynamics and feelings and reasons to do with everything that happened. Not even necessarily between him and Ryan, but the four of them as a whole. No, Spencer was the only one who’d ‘get it’ and the only one he’d tell. It wasn’t a big deal anyway, hardly 24 hours, anyone would do that for someone if they really needed help.

~~~

The game was good but after a few beers Brendon found his mind drifting. He wasn’t a particularly massive baseball fan himself and only cheered for the dodgers because they were LA’s team, he didn’t particularly care what the finals scores were. His thoughts wandered onto the subject of Ryan. Was he watching the game? It was well into the evening now and Jon had probably been and gone, maybe he’d helped Ryan out onto the sofa so he’d be by the TV for the baseball. Ryan hadn’t been a massive fan either though, Brendon doubted he’d bother getting out of bed just to watch some guys hit a ball around, it wasn’t fun unless you had company to shout with.

The fact that Ryan kept crossing his mind was irritating Brendon more than he’d like to admit. Yes, the guy hadn’t been completely absent from Brendon’s thoughts over the past three years, but they’d been passing considerations, not persistent contemplations. Why did he care what Ryan was up to? Jon was taking care of him: that was all he needed to know. But despite his reluctance, Brendon still found himself wanting to check in on Ryan, some innate part of him that still felt compelled to care for the guy. Fuck, he needed to stop this.

‘I’m stepping outside for a bit.’

There were a few mumbled replies, most people too focused on the TV to pay much attention. Brendon grabbed his beer and slipped out of the window by the kitchen onto the fire escape. The air was cold after the body heat of the apartment, but refreshingly so. The sound of cars and people shouting in the street floated up through the rusting metal steps and the muted sound of voices in the apartment seemed distant.

‘You okay?’

Brendon glanced up as Spencer crawled out of the still open window.

‘That obvious huh?’

‘Only to me.’

The two of them sat there in silence for a few moments before Spencer pulled the window shut and settled down on the upturned apple box by his feet. Brendon stared out across the brightly lit buildings, sipping his beer in contemplation. He loved living in LA, and the look of it at night never got old. All those tiny lights, scattered across the city as if someone had dropped a large handful of diamonds straight out of the sky. The fire escape was one of the best places to see it, somehow the apartment was angled just right that standing on the little metal platform you could see the city stretching for miles. He was glad he’d been the one to keep the apartment, it was only brick and mortar but it meant a lot. Oh if those walls could speak.

‘Is it about Ryan?’

Spencer seemed unsure about bringing the subject up again but Brendon nodded concedingly. There was no point denying it, Spencer would draw it out of him sooner or later, he was like that.

‘I just can’t stop thinking about him. Not in that way’, he added hurriedly, catching sight of Spencer’s alarmed raise of eyebrows. ‘Just… thinking. He hasn’t crossed my mind really in the past few years, not like this anyway. I guess I just forgot, about things.’

Spencer nodded silently, waiting for Brendon to continue.

‘I genuinely thought it would be okay, y’know? Going to see him in the hospital. That I’d turn up, check he was okay, maybe help him get home or whatever he needed and then pass the job over to whoever else would be looking after him. It was just the reasonable thing to do, I’m not that bitter.’

He took a sip of beer and let out a long, heavy breath.

‘But I guess I should have seen it coming, shouldn’t I… Fucking hell. Ryan Ross. I’m gonna be hung up on that guy forever aren’t I? Even if it’s in some small, stupidly irrelevant way, it’ll never completely go away. Three fucking years Spence, three whole years it took to get over him and still the goddamn moment I laid eyes on him in that hospital bed I forgave him. Deep in my heart I let all that pain and hurt slide away and I forgave him. It’s mad isn’t it? I don’t even _want_ to forgive him, but it’s like none of that matters. He could stab me in the fucking chest and I’d probably still be glad the final person I laid eyes on was George Ryan Ross III.’

Spencer looked at his friend, unsure what to say. On the surface it seemed like the answer was obvious, ‘get over him, move on’, but deep down he knew it wasn’t that simple with Ryan and Brendon. Not anymore.

‘You don’t feel… like you did then do you?’

Brendon laughed bitterly.

‘Nah, I’m not about to spiral into a complete wreck again, don’t worry, you won’t have to move in for a few weeks like last time.’

Spencer chuckled quietly.

‘It’s just… hard, y’know?’

Brendon finished his beer and placed it on the top step, beside a small collection of other bottles from the last few times he’d been out there which he never remembered to move. It was like a bizarre art installation of his lowest moments; the fire escape was a good place to think. Spencer had brought a recycling box permanently outside for him after Ryan left.

‘Hey, you’ll get over it soon okay? We both know you’ve got through worse. It was probably good to get some closure, life goes on, all that crap.’

Brendon smiled in spite of himself. Spencer was right: it was rough, but he’d been through a hell of a lot worse; the past years weren’t suddenly erased by seeing Ryan again. He’d still hurt Brendon, and Brendon had still worked through all those feelings and emotions and created a new, Ryan-free life. He didn’t love him anymore.

‘You coming inside or do you need a few more minutes?’

Someone screamed happily in the street below and Brendon shook his head.

‘I’ll be in in a minute.’

Spencer nodded and pulled up the window, crawling inside and closing it behind him.

They’d been out there a while, maybe the game was over, thought Brendon. He rubbed his face with his hands and let out a low groan. As he pulled his arms back, one of his elbows caught the neck of the end bottle and sent it tumbling onto the sidewalk below, smashing on the ground behind a large dumpster. June 27th, Brendon thought, he’d received a call saying his Nan had been admitted to hospital. She’d ended up okay but there was still that bottle to prove it’d happened. Well, not anymore. He looked at the remaining row of bottles, glanced quickly down between the metal bars to make sure no-one was beneath him, and pushed the most recent one off over the edge with his index finger. The sound echoed up between the parallel building walls and then everything went quiet again. July 16th, the ghost of Ryan Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that one even though it was very late! Don't forget to leave comments and kudos cause that's what makes me feel guilty when I do stuff like this and thanks to everyone who has already left so many x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh guess who's back so soon with the next chapter!! don't faint with shock
> 
> thankyou so much for the lovely comments after the last one <3

The next few weeks passed with relative ease. Brendon had managed to dispel almost all thoughts of Ryan and everything seemed to be continuing as normal; the trip to the hospital was nothing but a small blip. Okay, maybe he’d taken on every spare shift at work so he’d have something to distract himself with, but his co-workers weren’t complaining, one woman almost burst out crying when she realised she’d be able to attend her son’s school play after all because Brendon offered to cover her shift. It may have been a coping mechanism of sorts, but everyone benefited so…

“Are you sure you’re okay,” asked Patrick when Brendon turned up for the third time that week. It was only Tuesday.

“Jeez, does a man’s work ethic mean he’s not happy? People never ask accountants who work 14 hour days if they’re happy. This is job discrimination.”

Patrick rolled his eyes from where he was measuring blueberries into the blender.

“That’s because people know they’re unhappy. Money isn’t everything Bren and if someone’s working too many hours at work they’re either missing the outside world or they’re trying to avoid something in it. Nobody’s forcing you to be here, so what’s out there that you don’t wanna talk about?”

Brendon finished putting on his apron and rolled up his sleeves. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone else about the Ryan incident, hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that there was still anything worth mentioning, but Patrick was a good guy; if anyone outside their Jon, Ryan, Brendon, Spencer group was going to understand and give sagely advice: it was Patrick.

“Remember that Ryan kid I mentioned a few times?”

Brendon worked with his back to Patrick, not wanting to make eye contact. There was a spluttering laugh behind him followed by a quiet string of swear words as Patrick spilled orange juice on his sleeve.

“Uh, yeah, I think you mentioned him once or twice. Maybe a few hundred.”

Brendon held a middle finger out as he made his way over to the fridge.

“Wait”, said Patrick, stopping his work for a minute to turn and face Brendon. “He’s not… you’re not back together are you?!”

“God no, I’m not that crazy”, Brendon scoffed and Patrick looked visibly relieved. He didn’t know the intricate ins and outs of what went down but it took an idiot to not notice how torn up Brendon had been when he’d first started working at the shack two or three years ago.

“It’s just…” they paused their conversation as Patrick turned the blender on for a few seconds. “I saw him the other day. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but it’s hard man.”

As they served the next series of customers, Brendon explained the whole situation. Patrick nodded along with each new addition before Brendon finally finished and stopped what he was doing, turning to face Patrick properly.

“Am I crazy? Like, is this me making a big deal out of nothing?”

Patrick shook his head.

“Nah, I totally get it. From what you’ve told me, and from what I’ve seen, you and Ryan were very important to eachother, like a hell of a lot. And whatever Ryan did to fuck it up, that doesn’t get rid of that, not immediately, and not necessarily for 3 years afterwards either. It’s natural that seeing eachother after so long will screw with you, I think it’d be weird if it didn’t. You’re just slipping back into your old habits, almost like emotional muscle memory… and, is that such a bad thing? I mean you obviously miss the guy, and it sounds mutual; you can’t live your whole life doing things out of principle, because sometimes that’s really sucky for you in the long run.”

There was a sense of stillness in the room, or a still as a busy smoothie shop can be, maybe it was just in Brendon’s head. But something about Patrick’s words had tugged at a part of him which was fighting against suppression, fighting for this last out of the blue chance to speak to Ryan. Out of the blue. It was really. His past few years without Ryan had been a deep, starless night sky: good but still noticeably missing something, and Ryan was the moon shining in amongst it. Out of the blue.

“I, uh… thanks Patrick.”

The short man smiled. “Anytime B.”

Suddenly the consistent buzz of the room which they'd grown accustomed to over the past few hours was disrupted by a shout from down the corridor.

“Afternoon boys!” The slim figure of Gabriel Saporta appeared like some ominous, troublemaking angel, framed in holy artificial light. He swept into the preparation area and slapped both of them on the ass with a tea towel, causing Patrick to squeal and almost spill the drink he was pouring.

“Shift’s over my delicate little sunflowers.”

Sure enough, he was soon followed by Pete, significantly shorter and equally lacking in job enthusiasm.

“Sup guys.”

Patrick smiled quickly at Pete before shuffling off to grab his coat and hang up his apron; Patrick worked as a session musician as well as at the smoothie shack and sometimes the schedules cut close to eachother.

Brendon followed Patrick out and carefully removed his own apron, hanging it up on the end in a series of high, brass hooks.

“Catch you around Patrick,” he shouted as the small man rushed out of the door. A muffled goodbye was heard in reply and Brendon took a deep breath.

***

The walk home wasn’t a long one, maybe forty minutes, Brendon was walking slower than usual. He’d been thinking about what Patrick had told him; was it really worth acting like this over the whole Ryan thing? It’d been three years, three years was a long time. So much had been upturned by their breakup, and both of their lives were vastly different than they had been back then. Spencer and Jon had been changed too. They both obviously missed eachother, not necessarily in a relationship way, just in a life presence way. Would it be so crazy to just try and be friends? It wasn’t like he was still mad at Ryan, deep down he never really had been. Regardless of how they’d worked together as a couple, they’d certainly worked well together as people; similar interests, complimentary bad habits, sense of humour, and a good taste in men. Or maybe a bad taste, as it had turned out. He couldn’t do anything though, it wasn’t like he had Ryan’s number and turning up at his house would be weird. Or would it?

It was starting to rain and Brendon stopped for a moment on a long wooden bench sheltered under an elderflower tree. All through the park people were rushing to get home quickly, wrestling coats out of bags and hugging tightly to eachother as they sprinted through the falling raindrops. There was some bit of folklore about elderflower tress, Brendon thought, which someone had told him years ago. He had no idea why it still had a space in his brain but nevertheless it was there. It had been something about sitting beneath them, or maybe you had to fall asleep, he wasn’t sure, but whatever it was would enable you to see faeries. It sounded pretty cool to Brendon, but maybe they were supposed to be the bad kind of faeries, the kind that would fuck over whichever stupid human happened to fall asleep there, just for mischief. That was the last thing he needed, some meddling pixies strapping him into a crazy rollercoaster and sending him off for a wild ride. His life had just about settled down now, excluding the current incident, and Brendon thought he very much deserved it; he’d only just got off one rollercoaster, his time was served.

To his right a young couple was hurrying through the rain. Two girls holding hands. Brendon smiled, it was always nice to see other gay people out doing their thing, being happy, falling in love, especially when they were younger than him. He’d figured his shit out early, but there were a lot of people he knew who hadn’t worked things out until well into their twenties, sometimes even later. Even thought that was perfectly fine, it was good to see young people being themselves and not spending years and years confused or scared.

The girl closest to him looked up as they passed, making brief eye contact with Brendon before turning away and whispering something to her girlfriend. Brendon frowned at the backs of their heads; he wasn’t a creepy park dude, it was perfectly normal to shelter from the rain for a moment, maybe he did look like a massive loner in the middle of the long, empty bench but there was no need to blatantly whisper about him, have a little finesse at least.

A business man with a black briefcase dashed past, almost crashing into the girls but sliding slightly to the left at the last minute. They almost looked like faeries themselves, thought Brendon. One had long, almost white, wavy blonde hair. It was easily at her waist, probably further when it was straight. The other had beautiful, deep brown curls, still held tightly in place despite the heavy downpour. Perhaps they were discussing his fate right now, deciding on the best way to subvert his entire current existence. 

Brendon slicked back his dripping hair, smiling to himself. No point people watching for several hours, the rain didn’t look like it was letting up anytime soon anyway. He may as well bite the bullet and head home.

As he set off along the gravel the park seemed suddenly quiet. The rain got a bit heavier and as far as he could see there was no one else near him. The business man had obviously hurried off and left already and the couple must have veered off deeper into the park, probably in search of their own tree to shelter under. Something about the abrupt emptiness of the park and the white noise of the rain was unsettling and Brendon unconsciously picked up his pace. Heavy droplets gathered on his eyelashes and blurred his vision slightly. He didn’t think he was going to do anything about Ryan anymore, Patrick had raised some good points but deep down it didn’t seem worth it. As much as he missed the guy, how likely was it really that anything good would come from trying to stay in contact? His heart wanted Ryan but his brain knew that was a bad idea. He should listen to his brain more. His heart was also the same thing beating ten to the dozen at the uneasiness he was feeling about the park. His brain was telling him that was stupid and he needed to get home.

~~~

When he got back Brendon took a long bath and felt himself finally relaxing; he’d made a decision about Ryan and the subject was no longer bothering him, he’d finally made peace with it. That was until Spencer turned up.

“What kind of ‘something’?”

Brendon was perched on the arm of the sofa and Spencer sat opposite him on one of the old wingback chairs. You didn’t just open a conversation by telling someone you needed to ask them something, not in that tone of voice anyway, way to put a person on edge.

Spencer took a deep breath.

“A kind of… big something. I’m not sure I should even be telling you this really, but it’s your own choice to make and I’d feel like I was keeping something from you if I didn’t ask. You can just tell me if it’s not something you even want to consider and we’ll drop the subject immediately. I… I won’t mind if you say yes though. I actually think it could be quite good, as long as you’re okay with it. But I’ll do whatever you want, don’t let anything I say influence your decision.”

Brendon could feel his heartbeat increasing. What the fuck was Spencer about to ask him? That was a hell of a build-up and even though it seemed to be geared towards comforting Brendon, it had really done quite the opposite. The apprehensive look on Spencer’s face didn’t make matters much better, and he was fiddling nervously with his phone. Spencer didn’t get nervous very often, so when he did you knew something really wasn’t going well.

“What’s up Spence? You’re making me nervous, man...”

There was a heavy pause.

“Jon messaged me.”

The silence continued. Brendon made a small ‘o’ with his mouth.

“We spoke for a bit. He, uh, he said Ryan’s doing much better now, can walk on crutches and all.”

Brendon felt his shoulders stiffen at the mention of Ryan’s name, and Spencer seemed to grow more apprehensive as he spoke. In the background the TV was going through the upcoming week’s weather. New York was expecting sunshine, Florida was in for a storm.

“It was nice to catch up. Did you know Jon’s getting married soon? Him and Cassie got engaged at the start of last year.”

Texas, Missouri, Colorado, Wyoming: all were about to receive beautiful weather.

 

“He, um, asked me something. We spoke about it for a while and I said I’d mention it to you. We’re all free at the weekend anyway.”

Spencer was stalling reluctantly. Brendon could see in his eyes that he was still uncertain about whatever thing he was about to say.

“He… he suggested meeting up for lunch. You, me, him, and Ryan. On Saturday.”

California was in for almost a week long downpour, rainclouds blown down from the north, somewhere in Washington. It was ages since they’d had that much rain at once, well over a year, maybe two, possibly three even.  

Ryan wanted to meet up. Well, Jon wanted to, but presumably Ryan had been consulted about it too, and by the looks of it he hadn’t said no. Brendon had done everything right this time, listened to his brain, tried to be honest with himself, and yet here he was, strapped into a rollercoaster that he was pretty sure it was too late to get out of. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat under that tree. Something about the whole thing felt very unavoidable, as if things were already in motion and had been for some time without him realising. There was a storm coming from the north, a big, unsubtle hint about the chaos his life was about to dissolve into, ‘with love, Washington’. Fucking great. He went to shake his head no, listen to the brain, listen to the brain, but as he did so his brain made its own mistake, remembering Ryan softly sleeping on that morning all those weeks ago, his face glowing in the sunshine.

“Yes.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows but looked visibly relieved.

“Yes I’ll go.”

Brendon sighed defeatedly. The rain battered heavily on the windowpanes, filling the silence. Yes, he'd speak to Ryan. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to slam that kudos button if you enjoyed this and drop a comment if you fancy
> 
> stay lit folks


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shit you not this is the first wi-fi I have had since I last posted, I'm in a lawless wasteland.

Brendon’s hands were clammy with sweat despite the fact it was still raining outside. He was nervous. Very nervous. Today was the day they were having lunch with Jon and Ryan and it somehow seemed like the biggest thing he’d done in months. He’d hardly slept last night out of anxiety, Spencer had turned up at about nine to find Brendon smoking on the fire escape, attempting to counteract the increased anxiety from the coffee he’d had to keep himself awake with a morning joint. Somewhat of an unconventional breakfast to say the least.  
  
He was trying not to make a big deal out of it because that would mean he felt like something was going to happen, that he thought it was something worth making a big deal out of. They were just a group of old friends, having lunch, catching up.  
  
“You still sure you wanna do this?” Spencer asked, tying his shoelaces and watching Brendon from over his arm. Brendon nodded hurriedly; better to leave and get to the diner before he changed his mind. Better to leave before he realised there was absolutely no chance of that happening. It scared him how badly he wanted to see Ryan again.  
  
“Okay then, let’s go,” Spencer said, grabbing his car keys and pulling open the front door. Brendon took a deep breath.  
  
When they arrived at the diner, Ryan and Jon were already there. Spencer caught sight of them as they came in the door and waved. Brendon found himself unable to look as they walked towards the window booth: how would Ryan look without all the bruises as cuts? Would _Jon_ have changed over the years? What if he had to sit next to Ryan? Or opposite him? It was something which hardly would have phased him a couple of months ago, but now the thought of it made his heartbeat quicken with nerves. Or something else, he wasn't sure.

While he'd been busy distractedly inspecting the decor, Spencer had led them right up to the table and Brendon was forced to look up.

There was a space next to Spencer and infront of Jon which he slid into robotically. The placemats were made of thin, replaceable wax paper and had patterns of multi-coloured geometric shapes on it, like the end of a kaleidoscope. There was a stainless steel service basket with two salt and peppers pots, a glass bottle of vinegar, and a squeezy red bottle which presumably had ketchup in. A slim wooden box held pre-paired sets of cutlery, swaddled in paper napkins and sealed with little stickers displaying the same, kaleidoscopic shapes. Their booth was a window seat and Brendon could see cars driving up and down the street, people heading off on adventures for the day, not meeting up with their ex-boyfriend who they still had feelings for. Some sort of feelings.  
  
“Brendon! Dude it's so great to see you!”

Brendon forced himself to raise his eyes and look across the booth. The familiar and yet now uncomfortably alien face of Jon walker grinned back at him. He looked well, not that Brendon could recall seeing him unwell, but it was nice to see that the past 3 years hadn't had an adverse effect on him. It was strange though, he looked marginally different, in ways Brendon couldn't quite pin down but which were prominent enough to give the sense that something was off. He was more tanned, the laugh lines on his face were ever so slightly more defined; the way he was looking at Brendon wasn't the way you looked at a close friend, like Brendon was used to seeing, it contained more expectancy and a little nostalgia, some distance.

“Yeah man,” Brendon said, coughing slightly as his throat caught. He felt uncomfortably aware of his smile muscles and struggled for a moment to create something which recognisably resembled a grin.

“How have you been? It's good to see you too.”

“Good, yeah,” replied Jon, “great in fact.”

There was an extended pause, long enough for the four of them to all become aware of it. Spencer and Jon were sat expectantly, like a couple of actors paused and unmoving whilst their colleagues continued with the scene but no less present than if they were centre stage themselves. Brendon drifted his eyes over the placemat and the service basket, the ketchup bottle and the vinegar, the little cutlery burritos, all in pairs. It only lasted about two seconds.

“Hi Ryan,” Brendon said, forcing himself to talk first, almost losing the words as he looked up at the only person on the table her hadn’t addressed yet. “You're looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Ryan chuckled and Brendon felt his heart crumbling. The last Ryan he’d seen had been bruised and cut and in pain, there’d been a basic human empathy underlying all the feelings he had towards him and a lot of things that could be explained away by strong caring instincts. Now there was just Ryan and a deep warm feeling in Brendon’s stomach.

“Feeling better too.”

Either side of him Brendon sensed Jon and Spencer relax slightly. They’d obviously been half preparing themselves for Ryan and him to make a scene, to start shouting and throwing the complimentary glasses of water a waitress had brought round just as they’d arrived. They didn’t though. Instead they smiled at eachother and perused the menu as they let Spencer and Jon carry the weight of the conversation.

Underlying awkwardness aside, Brendon was genuinely enjoying himself. It was great to hear about Jon and what had happened in his life over the past three years that Brendon had missed out on. He was engaged to Cassie just like Spencer had mentioned and their wedding was actually planned for a couple months time.

“So are you still soundteching Bren?”

There was an awkward pause and Brendon felt Spencer tense slightly beside him.

“No I uh… I had to stop doing that.”

The lack of elaboration made it infinitely clear exactly when and why Brendon had stopped. It was something he was surprisingly unbothered about; the smoothie shack had provided a simple, repetitive distraction with new people to talk to who didn’t remind him of Ryan. It was only in the last few months he’d actually considered going back into working as a soundtech.

 

“I’m just gonna nip out for a smoke quickly,” Ryan said, smoothly sliding on his crutches as Jon made way for him to leave the booth.

Brendon watched him go before turning back to Spencer and Jon who both hurriedly tried to hide the fact they’d been watching him.

“I’m gonna… y’know.”

There was hardly any point coming up with an excuse at this point – they all knew he and Ryan needed to talk some things out alone.

He pushed open the glass entrance door and glanced down the building. There was an overhang of about a foot which sheltered them both from the rain, Ryan as he leaned next to the employee entrance and Brendon as he walked towards him.

“So you smoke now.” Brendon said in place of any actual conversation starter.

Ryan took a long drag and they both watched as he blew an aimless ribbon of smoke out into the downpour.

“Yeah,” he replied in a way that did not invite further enquiry.

Brendon shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed one shoe against the tarmac. He hardly dared to say anything for fear of shattering this little ‘okay’ they’d managed to spin between them.

“I’m sorry you lost your job,” Ryan said when Brendon didn’t fill the silence.

“It’s fine. I’m over it really.”

There was another long silence and they both watched as Ryan sent ribbon after ribbon of smoke swirling away, a hot gold spattering of ashes on the floor. It wasn’t an awkward silence, just one of two people who have so many things to say that it almost feels like there’s nothing.

“They’re like a couple of mom’s in there aren’t they,” Brendon continued and Ryan snorted.

“Jon actually sat me down when he suggested this.”

Brendon laughed loudly.

“Spencer gave me a whole lead up speech.”

They both smiled as they stared out at the sheets of rain falling in front of them. It was nice to find common ground on something other than how badly fucked up they’d left eachother.

“Sorry for skipping out on you like that the other day,” Brendon said. “It was just a bit weird.”

Ryan nodded. “I hardly remember most of it if I’m being honest, but I imagine it wasn’t all that easy for you… thankyou for coming though. I know I must have thanked you at the time but I just wanna say it now when I actually know what I’m saying.”

He chuckled and Brendon just bobbed his head slightly; it was hard to know what to say when everything was just apologies and thankyous for things they were both way past being angry about or needing acknowledgement for. There was nothing between them that could be changed by words anymore. Maybe three years ago they could have talked it out but now it had gone beyond that; on some level they both knew why Brendon had helped Ryan and why it was the only decision he would have ever made upon receiving that phone call.

“I did half wonder if it was all some super vivid, painkiller-induced dream and you hadn’t actually been there at all.”

The corner of Brendon’s mouth quirked up slightly at all the implications that carried with it.

“What gave it away?”

Ryan smiled silently to himself for a few moments as if deciding whether or not to say something.

“The bowls in the kitchen cupboard. They were all stacked upside down. You’re the only person I’ve ever known who does that.”

Brendon felt the back of his throat stiffen up involuntarily. There was something about the closeness of that statement and the fact Ryan had remembered it after all this time; it was like a beautiful, faultless snapshot of their relationship together. It was bittersweet to realise Brendon wasn’t the only one who’d been left with all this redundant information from their time together. It was easy to imagine the other person easily discarded any small memories about the two of you, maybe it made things simpler to imagine they didn’t care, that the reason they were breaking up with you was because all affection or care they’d felt for you had completely withered away. But it was never that simple.

“They don’t scratch as easily that way.” His throat caught slightly as he spoke.

“I know.”

Part of Brendon, he realised, was glad it was raining, and was thankful for all the carful’s of people zipping past on the highway next to them. It filled up the gaps they left in the conversation and the air between them; bright, silent sunshine would have been unbearable. 

“What do you think of the new Rolling Stones album”

For a moment he was taken aback by the _normalness_ of the question. In the hours he and Ryan had spent with eachother so far that day and the previous one a few weeks ago they hadn’t had anything at all resembling a casual conversation.

“It’s good. Different but good. Sounds older than their actual old stuff if that makes sense.”

Ryan nodded with a smile,

“I get that.”

They stood together silently in the rain for a few more minutes until Ryan smoked the last of his cigarette and ground the glowing butt into the tarmac.

“C’mon, we’d better get back to the dads.”

Brendon laughed and followed Ryan back into the diner.

***

“So,” Spencer said when they were both sat in his car again.

“’So’ what?” replied Brendon, staring out the window like a teenager trying to put off an obviously unavoidable conversation topic for a few more precious seconds.

Spencer sighed patiently.

“What’s on your mind after that?”

The rain was falling heavily on the roof of the car and Brendon let his thoughts focus on that for a few moments, gauging how he actually did feel.

“Remember when we first left Vegas… and we came out here to ‘find ourselves’,” Brendon started. “It was the first time we’d been away from our parents and we went to all these new bars and met all these people who didn’t know anything about us except what they saw in that exact moment. I didn’t feel like I was changing at the time, not really, but when we went home to visit it was like I was seeing everything from 10 feet higher up.”

Brendon stopped speaking but Spencer stayed silent, knowing he’d fill the quiet if he left it there. After listening to the sound of the rain for a few more moments, Brendon spoke up.

“I feel like I’ve just finished a long book and then flicked back to the front and re-read the very first page again.”

“Do you want to read any more of it?” Spencer ventured.

Brendon considered for a moment.

“You reckon the story’ll be different this time? Or will we all find ourselves looking at the exact same last page again?”

As he spoke he stared out across the car park at the dark tarmac. The rain was so heavy it was almost like a haze once you looked far enough.

“I think even if we do,” Spencer said, choosing his words carefully, “whatever happens inbetween wont be the same.”

Brendon nodded quietly to himself.

“Let’s go home,” he said, leaning over to turn the radio on.

 

 

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a youtuber at the end of a video every time I say this but don't forget to leave a comment or kudos if you like it! Love ya


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can't remember what happened last it was Jon, Spencer, Bren, and Ryan all meeting up for the first time in the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey. Idk what to tell you at this point but I'm back! Been a mad few months y'know? Just... out there living n shit. Hope you're all good and if you're still remotely invested I hope you enjoy this!

“Right, you’ve spoken to me about this Ryan guy every single time I’ve seen you since that first night; you need a distraction.” Patrick wiped his hands on a tea towel. “Me and Pete have got a band together with this guy called Joe. We’re looking for another guy, probably to sing, and I think it would be good for you to come practice with us until we find someone. I know how much you loved the music scene and I reckon it’ll be really good for you to get you mind off all this Ryan stuff.”

It was on Brendon’s lips to say no when he actually paused to consider the offer. He’d been out of music for a while now and it was true he was beginning to miss it.

“Yeah… yeah okay, sure.”

Patrick smiled and threw a thumb over to the counter to signify there was a customer waiting.

“2 o’clock after work, Pete’s house.”

***

“Hey Brendon, man, how’s it going?”

“Good to see you Pete, long time no see,” Brendon replied sarcastically. Pete chuckled.

“Too long, too long.” He turned to gesture at the comparatively tall man standing next to him. “This is Joe. Joe, Brendon, Brendon, Joe.” They shook hands and got talking about music. Joe was the guitarist Pete had found for his new band, Brendon hadn’t heard him play yet but the way he spoke about other people’s music was so passionate he couldn’t be anything but good. The guy also had a head of hair that would make any self-respecting 70’s rockstar jealous.

“So I was thinking Pat could sing for a bit while you do drums? I’ve been writing some stuff and Patrick says he’s got a ’soul voice’ so…  I mean anything’s gonna sound better than me attempting to sing. It's a good job you're here otherwise Pat would have had to pull a Phil Collins... probably would have done a great job of it though.” Pete laughed and Brendon nodded, following Patrick over to the drumkit. Apparently Pete had shown him the lyrics a few days ago and he’d been messing around with possible rhythms and chords progressions ever since; Pete was more of a writer, Patrick was a genius when it came to music. It was almost cute how enthusiastically he dived into musical projects, you could throw almost anything at him and he’d put all his effort into it and probably come out with something pretty good regardless.

The first run through went surprisingly well. Joe, as expected, was a natural on the guitar, and Brendon managed to get through the entire song despite the last time he played drums being well over a year ago.  Pete was good on bass, nothing exceptional but that wasn't really why he was there; Pete was there because of the lyrics, which were an amazing kind of unique, and indulgently metaphorical. This was judged from reading the printed out lyrics page though, whatever Patrick was singing couldn't really be identified without external help. Whatever Patrick _was_ singing, though, sounded good. Really good. He'd heard him singing before, when the two of them would absentmindedly jam along with the radio at the smoothie hut, but Brendon had never really heard him fully going for it. 'Soul voice' was a fairly accurate description, he could easily imagine Patrick alone infront of a microphone, belting out some classic soul tune. Somehow, though, it seemed to work equally well, possibly even better, when placed before Joe's guitar, Pete's bass, some solid drums, and those extraordinary lyrics. The lyrics were what surprised Brendon most, they worked perfectly with Patrick's voice and somehow he couldn't imagine either of them sounding as good without the other. Pete was onto something with this band. 

 

The rest of the practise went just as well as the first song, everyone slapping eachother on the back once the final notes had been played. 

"Find yourself another guy as quick a possible man,” Brendon said to Pete as they stood packing everything away, "you've got something special going here."

Pete smiled and Brendon could see how much it meant to him. The two of them turned to where Patrick and Joe were chatting about something or other. 

"You want in?", Pete asked nonchalantly, crossing his arms and hardly even glancing towards Brendon. “Pat says you’ve got a pretty decent voice.”

He thought about it, seriously for a moment, but eventually shook his head. Music was something he loved, but if it was right you knew, and Brendon didn't know. 

"Nah I… there’s a bit too much going on at the moment. I’ll happily fill in until you find someone else though.” Pete nodded in understanding. “Besides,” Brendon said, moving the conversation on and nodding towards Patrick, “I don’t think a singer is what you should be looking for.”

"Incredible isn't he?" Said Pete quietly, looking slightly in awe. Patrick glanced over at them both and smiled before continuing his conversation with the guitarist. 

"If you ever hurt him I'll make you regret it."

Pete laughed at the insinuation and slapped Brendon on the arm, causing him to break the serious facade he'd put up. 

"No but seriously man, Patrick's a good guy, and an amazing musician, a million bands would kill to have him and they don't even know it. Just... take good care of him." Brendon hadn't even realised the brotherly affection he'd developed for Patrick over their time working together, but all of a sudden he felt like a concerned sibling watching his younger bro going out into the big, wide world. Which was ridiculous, Patrick was a grown man who's spent most of his life playing sessions and covering for various people in practises. Being in a band was different though, Brendon knew that world could eat you up and spit you out if things didn't go right or one element was slightly off. He'd seen it time and time again when working as a sound tech: labels getting greedy, members disagreeing, sometimes it was as simple as not being able to cut tour life. They might just swing it though, Brendon thought, this little, nameless gathering of people might just pull it off. 

***

When Brendon got home there was a missed call on his phone and a text from the service provider telling him to call 121 for his voicemail. He'd only realised his phone was absent from his left back pocket when he was sat on the metro heading to Pete's house. The missed call was from Ryan and Brendon felt a nervous flutter in his stomach, from excitement or nerves he couldn't tell. 

Grabbing a beer from the fridge he dialled the voicemail number and climbed out onto the fire escape. 

"Hey Brendon, it's Ryan." There was a noticeable pause. "I was wondering if you wanted to meet up again? I'm free tomorrow... the weather's supposed to be good, we could walk Bogart and Dottie? Don't worry if not, I just feel like we need to do this... anyway let me know."

Brendon lowered his phone and held it by his side, both arms hanging low, making him look somewhat lost. He’d been wondering who would make the first move after the diner. Part of him had assumed it would be another group outing engineered by Spencer and Jon; he’d expected the four of them to meet up quite a few time before he and Ryan properly saw eachother alone but maybe that was overcautious. Ryan calling _him_ first, now that was something he hadn't expected. Maybe he just meant they shouldn't leave it too long before speaking again, just in case either of them changed their minds or old grudges came back. Perhaps Ryan didn't even know himself. 

There was no question of course, Brendon would call back straight away and confirm the date. Not the _date_ , it wasn't a date, he didn't know what it was but it definitely wasn't one of those. 

The clock above the fridge showed it was 19:30. Brendon picked up his phone. 

Ryan answered after 4 rings. 

"Hey Brendon, how's it going?"

There was already a comforting feeling at the sound of Ryan's voice, whether it was genuine or something akin to muscle memory Brendon wasn't sure. 

"Good Ry, good, what about you?"

He kicked himself for saying 'Ry' again instead of ‘Ryan’, but the reply was so quick he wasn't sure it'd even been noticed. 

"Not bad, yeah." There was a pause. "I guess you're calling about tomorrow?"

He sounded apprehensive, which made Brendon sympathetic but also gave him a sense of confidence in the situation.

"Partly yeah," Brendon admitted. "I'm definitely up for that by the way, it'll be nice for Bogart and Dottie to see eachother. Hopefully they'll play nice."

"Probably do a better job than us." Ryan laughed. Brendon smiled to himself. So they'd reached the stage they could joke about themselves, that was good.

"Yeah, you'd hope so. Um..." He trailed off, wondering whether he was making a terrible mistake, pushing things too far too soon. They'd been in a precarious enough situation before the diner meeting and Brendon could already feel all that slipping away through his over-eager fingers. 

"What is it Bren..?"  Brendon almost laughed at Ryan's tone; even after all this time they knew eachother inside out and Ryan could obviously tell Brendon know was turning something over and over in his head like a spinning barrel. 

He didn't want to risk it. 

"Nothing, never mind, just wanted to confirm tomorrow. See you then!" 

Ryan hardly got in a 'bye' before Brendon hung up. It just wasn't worth the risk, he'd been thinking in the present and not about the past or future. 

The apartment seemed extra quiet as he sat down on the sofa, a loud 'pap' echoing around the room as he set down a beer bottle on the coffee table. 

Turning the tv on helped, created some kind of background noise like usual, but something about it seemed artificial, as if he could hear the emptiness behind the canned laughter and cringey adverts. A quick scroll through the guide showed that nothing much was on, except the movie channel... Heathers was playing. It started in 15 minutes and Brendon groaned internally. Heathers had been their not-so-guilty guilty pleasure film, the one they watched when they couldn't agree on what to watch. He'd probably seen it well over 50 times. He hadn't watched it in over 3 years. Religion wasn't something Brendon believed in, the universe wasn't something he saw as capable of making his decisions, superstition was something he discounted, but it would be hard to ignore such a coincidence as this. Perhaps he needed to rethink his beliefs. 

The phone dial seemed to ring for forever but eventually Ryan picked up. 

"Hello Brendon... again."

"Heathers is on," he blurted out before there was a moment to reconsider. He must've paused for slightly too long afterwards because Ryan replied before Brendon could say the important half of the statement. 

"Uh... thanks for letting me know."

"Did you want to come over and watch it?"

If the time it took to pick up seemed like forever then the time it took for Ryan to respond stretched for infinity. 

"It's completely okay if not, we can just pretend I never asked."

"No," Ryan cut him off, "I do. I'll come I've now... see you in a bit."

Brendon felt almost lightheaded with relief. "Okay. Cool. See you soon then."

"Yeah." Ryan said before hanging up. 

The sounds in the apartment seemed conversely amplified compared to the silence of earlier. Brendon could hear his own breath and his heart and the sound of the cushions shifting as he sat down on the sofa. One floor up Mrs Jackson started her coffee machine and three apartments across someone flushed a toilet. The tail end of the movie preceding Heathers was coming to an end.

_‘_ _Go on, hit me. It's what you want. Hit me, fucker.’_  Brendon recognised it as Closer, some film Ryan had made him watch years ago. It was actually pretty good if he recalled correctly. He watched as Jude Law perused the memorial wall and finally realised that Jane Rachel Jones sat atop a spectacular throne of lies.

There was a knock at the door which made Brendon jump. The last time he'd heard Ryan knock instead of just walking straight in? Over five years. 

"Hey," Brendon said softly, pulling open the door. 

"Hi," replied Ryan. He looked good, in the dull hallway lights. 

Brendon stepped back as gestured for him to walk in.  
  
"Thanks," Ryan said, removing his jacket and hanging it on one of the hallway pegs. Ryan didn't even own a leather jacket when they lived together, it was all floral shirts and worn out t-shirts. Brendon had to admit he preferred the leather jacket.  
  
"You're just in time," shouted through Brendon as he headed into the kitchen. "What do you want to drink? Beer, wine, tea? A Capri sun?"  
  
"Beer's fine thanks," replied Ryan, settling down on the sofa.  
  
It struck Brendon how strange it must be for Ryan, similar to when Brendon first walked into Ryan's new apartment, to come back into the flat they used to share. It was full of both familiar and unfamiliar things between familiar walls and fixtures.  
  
"I haven't seen Heathers in years," said Ryan conversationally as Brendon walked back into the living room.  
  
"Yeah me neither."  
  
They both sat down on the sofa. It was, thankfully, not at all awkward. Brendon had been sat on the right hand side already and it was a three person sofa. Ryan was a corner-curler so he settled himself on the left with his legs tucked up. There was a nice but unforced space between them.  
  
_‘It’s your turn Heather.'_

_‘No Heather, it’s Heather’s turn.’_  
  
Movies were great because you didn't have to talk; there were no awkward silences, and you could only really speak during the adverts, apart from an odd comment about the film.  
  
Halfway through the second lot of adverts Bogart woke up and ran happily over to Ryan.  
  
"Well hey little man."  
  
The small dog curled up peacefully in Ryan's lap after a quick session of licking him.  
  
By the time the final scene came around they'd got through three bottles of beer each. Ryan had his wedged inbetween the sofa cushions and Brendon had lined his up in the coffee table infront of them.  
  
Maybe it was the beer having an ever so slight effect, or simply the act of sitting in a room together for two hours, but the atmosphere between them seemed really chilled and... nice. Perhaps it was the nostalgia of watching Heathers together again.

 

They sat there comfortably as the credits rolled past and the TV announcer took over.  
  
"And continuing our 80's week you can watch St. Elmo's fire at the same time tomorrow night."  
  
Brendon glanced at Ryan and found himself being glanced at as well.  
  
"You wanna watch it?"  
  
Brendon nodded. With a smile Ryan headed over to the door, grabbing his leather jacket off the hook and pulling it slowly on. Brendon followed behind him, taking small sips from the beer bottle he was still holding.  
  
"What time were you thinking for the park?"  
  
Ryan paused for a second to think.  
  
"Two? I know neither of us are exactly early birds. We can grab lunch or something afterwards if you want?"  
  
Brendon chuckled. "Sounds good. Two it is."  
  
Once again they ploughed through the awkwardness of leaving as if it didn't exist. No kiss like when they were dating, no hug like close friends, a handshake was too formal. Brendon held the door open and Ryan slipped out with a wave, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket as he went.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I abandoned you for six months x


End file.
